Euripides' 'Andromache' and Athenian Hegemonic Ideology

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Alexandra H. Dawson, The Univeristy of Western Ontario

Supervisor: Suksi, Aara, The University of Western Ontario A thesis submitted in partial fulfillment of the equirr ements for the Doctor of Philosophy degree in Classics © Alexandra H. Dawson 2020

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Abstract and Keywords

Scholarship on the political character of Athenian tragedy has increasingly turned its attention to the relationship between tragedy and empire. In Athenian panegyric,

Athens’ rule is frequently portrayed as hegemonic, although historiographical sources reveal inconsistencies between the idealized image of the city and the historical realities of empire. Several recent approaches have concentrated especially on tragedies that feature an Athenian setting or character in the dramatic action as a means to explore the ways in which the plays engage with Athenian ideas on power and domination. In response, the primary aim of this analysis is an understanding of the way Athenian hegemonic ideology operates in tragedy when ‘Athens’ is conspicuously absent.

To this effect, I argue that Euripides’ Andromache offers insight into how the

Athenians conceptualized their roles as leaders of an empire. I suggest that the political overtones of the play are conveyed by the marriage alliance between the Spartan and

Thessalian characters, which had implications for the historical relations between Athens,

Sparta, and Thessaly. My approach, therefore, can be classified broadly speaking as belonging to the methodology of ‘audience studies’, as it considers what the play signified for the members of its original audience. In this regard, I draw on comparative analysis of the historical context of the drama as evidenced in Thucydides, the rest of

Athenian tragedy, and other contemporary texts. The theoretical foundation of my analysis is informed by Antonio Gramsci’s theory of hegemony and the study of colonial discourse, first popularized by Edward Said, both of which conceive of predominance as achieved through the consent or inclusion of dominated parties. In keeping with these concepts, I suggest that the ideological message of Andromache speaks on two levels: the

first is in part directed outward at subordinate groups and works to disseminate and promote an ideology, which actively contested the competing voice advanced by Sparta and implicitly justified Athens’ position of leadership over Greek city-states. The second is targeted inward at the Athenian audience members themselves and encourages self- reflection and criticism, a necessary precondition of a dominant group’s attainment and preservation of hegemonic status.

Keywords

Athenian tragedy, Euripides, Andromache, Athens, Sparta, Thucydides, Peloponnesian

War, Gramsci, hegemony, imperialism, colonial discourse, New Historicism, ideology.

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Summary for Lay Audience

It is now widely accepted that Athenian theater possessed an inherently political character owing to its performance context and engagement with Athenian civic institutions. Scholarship on the political character of Greek tragedy has increasingly turned its attention to the relationship between tragedy and the empire. In tragedy and funeral orations, Athens’ rule is modelled after hegemony, that is, moral leadership. Yet historical sources reveal that the positive image of the city often conflicted with the realities of empire. Several recent approaches have concentrated especially on tragedies which feature an Athenian setting or character in the dramatic action as a means to explore the ways in which the plays engage with Athenian ideas on power and domination. In response, the primary interest of this analysis is in understanding the way

Athenian hegemonic ideology operates in tragedy when ‘Athens’ is absent.

To this effect, I argue that Euripides’ Andromache, which was produced during the opening years of the Peloponnesian War, offers insight into how the Athenians thought about their roles as leaders of an empire. Using the methodology of ‘audience studies’, I interpret tragedy as a product of its historical environment and consider what the play meant for the members of its first audience. In order to construct this context, I employ comparative analysis of the writings of the Athenian historian Thucydides, the rest of Athenian tragedy, and other contemporary texts.

My interpretation of Athenian rule is based on the modern theoretical discussions of hegemony and colonial discourse. Drawing on these concepts, I suggest that the ideological message of Andromache speaks on two levels. The first is in part directed outward at Athenian subjects and works to spread and promote ideas, which challenged

the competing ideas advanced by Sparta, Athens’ rival for supremacy, and indirectly justified Athens’ position of leadership over Greek city-states. The second is targeted inward at the Athenian audience members themselves and encourages self-reflection and criticism, a process integral to achievement and preservation of dominance.

Dedication

For my Nana, Agnes Wells, who did not live to see the culmination of my efforts, but who, even after dementia had claimed her mind, remained fiercely proud of her own career and endeavours and always sought to instill the same attitude in me.

Acknowledgements

Although I feel confident that my words will not be able to express sufficiently my thanks and gratitude to my supervisor, Dr. Aara Suksi, I nevertheless owe her a great deal of appreciation for the guidance, support, and patience she has provided to me over the course of my graduate career. I imagine that neither of us expected to be on this journey together for as long as we have been – I think it is safe to say that this experience has not been without challenges – but I am certain that I would not have been able to reach this point without a supervisor as compassionate and thoughtful as Aara. For this and more, I thank you.

I would also like to extend my sincere thanks to the invaluable expertise provided by the members of my supervisory and examination committees, Professors Christopher

G. Brown, Bernd Steinbock, Randall Pogorzelski, Nandi Bhatia, and Judith Fletcher.

Many thanks are owed to several professors across Western University for offering me research assistantships during the pursuit of my Ph.D. Thank you to Professors Laurence de Looze, Russell Poole, Alena Robin, and especially, Corey Dyck. I have also been supported in countless ways over the last several years by the Department of Classical

Studies, for which I thank the faculty, staff, and my fellow graduate students, past and present.

I would be remiss if I did not pause to recognize the seemingly inexhaustible encouragement of my family and friends, who have been with me every step of this journey. Thank you for believing that I had the ability to see this project through even – and especially – when I did not believe it myself. Thank you for always speaking of this day as “when” and never “if”.

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Finally, these acknowledgements could never be complete without recognizing my husband, Scott. Thank you for your unwavering support: for learning more about

Greek literature and history than you could have ever anticipated knowing (or, dare I say, cared to know), for providing me a safe place to land, for being there to wipe away the tears in moments of despair and to share in moments of triumph and achievement. In you,

I know that I have found the best ally in life I could have ever hoped for – you’re all I need to get by.

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Table of Contents

ABSTRACT AND KEYWORDS ...... II

SUMMARY FOR LAY AUDIENCE ...... IV

DEDICATION ...... VI

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS ...... VII

TABLE OF CONTENTS ...... IX

ABBREVIATIONS ...... XII

NOTE ON TRANSLATIONS ...... XIII

INTRODUCTION ...... 1

CHAPTER 1: THE ANDROMACHE AND GRAMSCI’S THEORY OF HEGEMONY 18

1.1: Introduction ...... 18

1.2: Antonio Gramsci and the Theory of Hegemony ...... 20

1.3: The ‘War of Position’, Crisis of Hegemony, and Counterhegemony ...... 24

1.4: Ideology, Intellectuals, and Greek Tragedy ...... 27

1.5: Modern Theory, Ancient Society ...... 30

1.6: Greek Tragedy and Hegemonic Theory...... 39

1.7: Greek Freedom as Hegemonic Principle ...... 41

1.8: Athenian Hegemonic Ideology ...... 47

1.9: Spartan Freedom Propaganda as Competing Voice ...... 53

1.10: Summary ...... 57

CHAPTER 2: THE ANDROMACHE, ATHENIAN SUPPLIANT DRAMA, AND MARRIAGE ...... 59

2.1: Introduction ...... 59

2.2: Hegemony, Suppliancy, and Tragedy: Tzanetou’s City of Suppliants ...... 61

2.3: The Andromache and ‘The Pattern of Suppliant Drama’ ...... 65

2.4: Marriage as Political Alliance...... 71

2.5: Summary ...... 87

CHAPTER 3: THE ANDROMACHE AND COUNTERHEGEMONY ...... 88

3.1: Introduction ...... 88

3.2: Spartan Freedom Propaganda and Counterhegemony ...... 89

3.3: The Andromache and Hegemonic Crisis ...... 97

3.4: Spartan Characterization and Tyrannical Parallels ...... 99

3.5: Spartan Self-Interest and ‘The Common Good’ ...... 120

3.6: Summary ...... 131

CHAPTER 4: THE ANDROMACHE AND COLONIAL DISCOURSE ...... 133

4.1: Introduction ...... 133

4.2: Colonial Discourse and Spurr’s Rhetorical Modes...... 135

4.3: The Andromache and the Mythic Tradition ...... 142

4.4: Peleus as Democratic Athenian ...... 150

4.5: Neoptolemus and ‘The Hoplitic Ideal’ ...... 162

4.6: Athens and Molossia: Art Imitating Life ...... 175

4.7: Summary ...... 184

CHAPTER 5: REAL VS. IDEAL: CRITICAL SELF-AWARENESS IN THE ANDROMACHE ...... 186

5.1: Introduction ...... 186

5.2: The Mytilenean Comparison ...... 189 5.2.1: Calculation vs. Haste ...... 191 5.2.2: Revenge vs. Moderation ...... 197

5.2.3: Justice vs. Interest ...... 203

5.3: Polypragmosyne: Positive vs. Negative Interventionism ...... 213

5.4: A Critical Understanding of Self ...... 231

5.5: Summary ...... 233

CONCLUSION ...... 236

BIBLIOGRAPHY ...... 242

CURRICULUM VITAE ...... 263

Abbreviations

Authors and works are cited according to the conventions of the Oxford Classical

Dictionary. Journals are abbreviated according to the conventions of l’Année philologique; other frequently referenced scholarship is cited as follows:

CAH2 vol. III = Boardman, J. et al. (eds.). 1982. The Cambridge Ancient History, vol. III,

2nd ed. Cambridge.

CT = Hornblower, S. 1991-6. A Commentary on Thucydides. 2 vols. Oxford.

DFA = Pickard-Cambridge, A.W. 1968. The Dramatic Festivals of Athens. Oxford.

EGM = Fowler, R.L. 2000. Early Greek Mythography, vol. 1. Oxford.

FGrH = Jacoby, F. 1923-1958. Die Fragmente der griechischen Historiker. Berlin and

Leiden.

HCT = Gomme, A.W. 1945-56. A Historical Commentary on Thucydides. 3 vols. Oxford.

IG = 1903- Inscriptiones Graecae.

LSJ = Liddell, G.H., R. Scott, and H.S. Jones (eds.). 1968. A Greek-English Lexicon (9th ed. with supplement). Oxford.

M-W = Merkelbach, R. and M.L. West (eds.). 1990. Hesiodi Fragmenta Selecta, 3rd ed.

Oxford.

Nauck = Nauck, A. 1889. Tragicorum Graecorum Fragmenta, 2nd ed. Leipzig.

PMGF = Davies, M. Poetae Melicorum Graecorum Fragmenta, vol. 1. Oxford.

SEG = Supplementum Epigraphicum Graecum. Leiden.

TrGF = 1971-2004. Tragicorum Graecorum Fragmenta, vol. I-V. Göttingen.

West = West, M.L. 2003. Greek Epic Fragments. Cambridge, MA.

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Note on Translations

All translations of Thucydides are by Steven Lattimore (1998).

Translations of Herodotus are courtesy of E.G. Millender (1996).

Translations of Aristotle’s Politics are by H. Rackham from the Loeb volumes (1932).

All other translations, unless otherwise noted, are mine, but at times I draw on standard published translations.

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Introduction

In this thesis, I argue that the analysis of Euripides’ Andromache helps to shed light on the Athenians’ view of their position as leaders of an empire, particularly in relation to their ties with the Spartans, their rivals for supremacy, and the Thessalians, their historical subject-allies. Building on Angeliki Tzanetou’s recent examination of

Athenian suppliant plays and her application of Antonio Gramsci’s concept of hegemony as a unifying interpretive framework for suppliant tragedy, I suggest that it is possible to observe ideological content in the Andromache that operates in a similar way to traditional Athenian suppliant plays despite the absence of any Athenian characters on stage or explicit references to Athens.1 As Tzanetou remarks in the opening pages of her work, “the many facets of Athenian hegemony cannot be exhausted within the small space of a single monograph, and in fact one encounters the complex character of

Athenian hegemony in other plays as well. It is my hope that this book will pave the way for a broader examination of this topic”.2 I offer the following dissertation as a small contribution to this larger study of Athenian hegemony.

This project originally developed with the objective of mapping Tzanetou’s analysis of Athenian suppliant drama onto the Andromache to examine how Athenian hegemonic ideology manifests in Greek tragedy when Athens is seemingly inconspicuous. Tzanetou traces her argument through careful readings of three tragedies,

Aeschylus’ Eumenides, Euripides’ Heracleidae, and Sophocles’ Oedipus at Colonus. In each play, foreigners arrive at Athens, seeking aid from a representative of the city,

1 Tzanetou 2012. The closest thing to a reference to Athens is a single utterance of the name of Pallas at line 1252. 2 Tzanetou 2012: 2.

whether the king, in the case of the children of Heracles and Demophon or Oedipus and

Theseus, or the patron goddess and Athenian people themselves, as in the case of Orestes and the Furies. It gradually became apparent, however, that the interpretive parameters employed by Tzanetou could not be applied in the same way to a play wherein ‘Athens’ was absent. This realization forced me to rethink my approach to the Andromache and to reconsider what possible meaning lay behind the – initially – frustrating inconsistencies in my analysis, the result of which is the dissertation I have now written.

Thus, while this thesis takes much of the inspiration for its methodological approach from Tzanetou’s monograph on Athenian suppliant drama, it necessarily deviates from the parameters according to which she examines the tragedies.

Accordingly, in contrast to Athenian suppliant drama, which offers “a blueprint for examining Athens’ relations with her imperial allies”, the Andromache, I maintain, largely offers commentary on Athenian attitudes about their rule vis-à-vis their rivalry with Sparta, the leadership role it projected, and its own relationship with fellow-Greeks in the second half of the fifth century BCE.3 Unlike Tzanetou, who interprets the relationship of supplicandus to suppliant as reflecting the unbalanced relationship between Athens and its historical allies, I analyze the connection between Sparta and its allies as represented by the marriage between the Spartan Hermione and Phthian

Neoptolemus. Engagement with the theme of marriage helps to substantiate the comparison of relations between Spartans and Thessalians as an expression of a political alliance, which further roots my examination of Greek interstate relations in the broader framework of the Andromache’s historical context, as we will see below. Although

3 ibid., 16.

scholars disagree about the date of the Andromache’s first production, there is seemingly a consensus that the play was initially performed sometime during the 420s.4 This view is motivated by a scholion at line 445, which suggests a performance in the opening years of the Peloponnesian War.5 I follow Allan, who accepts a date of c.425 BCE based on metrical and stylistic evidence, nevertheless a production date at some point in the first decade of the Peloponnesian War would be relevant to my analysis of the historical contexts of the play.

My analysis is motivated by questions of intention and reception. More specifically, I consider how Athenian hegemonic ideology is represented in tragedy when there is no overt Athenian presence in the dramatic narrative and how this ideology may have resonated with the audience. Attic drama was, certainly, a uniquely Athenian product, composed by Athenians, performed by Athenians, and presented before an audience, which, although metics and allies were present, comprised primarily of

Athenian citizens. And while it surely had significant associations for Greek poleis beyond Athens, the first performance of these tragedies was almost exclusively intended for an Athenian audience.

Nor should it be overlooked that tragedy developed along with Athenian democracy. While the importance of this has been recognized generally, Simon

4 Stevens, while admitting that the scanty evidence could support a date somewhere between 430-421 BCE for the performance of Andromache, suggests a date of approximately 425 BCE (1971: 15-19). Valk suggests a date of 428-425 BCE. He argues that the Battle of Sphakteria in 425 BCE must serve as a terminus ante quem for the performance of the play. Prior to this disastrous defeat for the Spartans, their army was considered to be invincible, he claims (cf. Thuc. 4.55.4). Thus, Peleus’ statement at 724-26 about the excellence of the Spartan army, Valk, maintains, demonstrates that the Spartan forces had not yet suffered this great loss (1985: 73-75). Cropp and Fick offer a statistical analysis of the occurrence of resolutions in the iambic trimeters in scenes of dialogue, independent of the influence of other scholarly arguments. They locate the tragedy between 424-421 (1985: 23). 5 For the complete passage, see below, 75.

Goldhill’s seminal work on Greek tragedy and the City Dionysia marked a resurgence of scholarly interest in the specific relationship between Athenian democracy and tragedy.6

Studies since the mid-eighties especially have asked in what ways tragedy relates to the city in which it developed, how it reflects the ideology and institutions of this city, and how notions of civic identity are presented and questioned on the tragic stage. Despite the views of some scholars, Jasper Griffin for instance, who believes that Greek drama was not politically, democratically, or ideologically motivated, it cannot be ignored that tragedy was a specifically Athenian cultural product.7

In this respect, my approach follows the methodology of New Historicism, namely, the idea that literature ought to be interpreted within its historical context.8

According to this view, it is understood that a literary work is influenced by and itself reflects the times, circumstances, and environment in which it was written. In essence, literary texts may be viewed as active participants in the creation of political discourse.

More specifically, my analysis of the Andromache adheres to a practice that David Carter has termed ‘audience studies’. Carter describes such interpretations as “investigations into what a literary text meant (or means, in the modern reception of Greek tragedy) to members of a particular audience; distinct from criticism of the text in isolation, or the personal response of the critic, or the attempt to reconstruct the author’s intention”.9 For this reason, a key aspect of my methodology is the use of comparative analysis of the

6 Goldhill 1987. For examples of earlier analyses of the connections between Athens, tragedy and politics see Zuntz 1955, Vickers 1973, and Walcot 1976. 7 Griffin 1998. Griffin does allow for the presence of political motives to a certain degree in some tragedies, such as Aeschylus’ Eumenides or Euripides’ Suppliant Women, but argues that, in general, political ideas were not a prevalent or primary motivation behind Greek drama. 8 Goff 1995 offers a particularly useful summary of the applications of New Historicism to the study of Greek tragedy (1-37). 9 Carter 2011: 7. Cf. Carter 2007: 6.

historical context as evidenced in other contemporary literary and historiographical texts.

Thucydides’ Histories, in particular, plays a vital role in situating the Andromache within the larger framework of the Athenian empire and the struggle for supremacy between

Athens and Sparta.

Equally significant to the interpretation of Greek tragedy was the international character of the City Dionysia due to the presence of foreigners in the audience, including representatives of the Delian League, in contrast to the smaller, annual festival, the

Lenaia, at which non-Athenians were absent (Ar. Ach. 502-506).10 For this reason, scholarship in the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries has considered specifically the relationship between Athenian empire and tragedy.11 Building on

Goldhill’s demonstration that the ceremonies that preceded the performance of the plays at the City Dionysia were concerned with projecting Athenian power, Tzanetou observes that the civic nature of the ceremonies allows critics to evaluate how the traditional myths of Athenian tragedy comment upon the development and presentation of Athenian imperial rule. After 454/3 BC representatives of Athenian allies attended the event in order to present their tribute and so the audience would have included a combination of citizens and foreigners.12 The presence of their allies and subjects in the audience affected the type of image the Athenians wanted to present of themselves onstage. This has led me to consider the effect(s) conveyed by the Andromache on the audience, Athenian and foreign, intentional or not, for, as Futo Kennedy articulates, “tragedies are not just about the Athenians negotiating their identity among themselves but about projecting an image

10 On the composition of the dramatic audience, see DFA 263-278. 11 For example: Euben 1986; Winkler and Zeitlin 1990; Scodel 1993. 12 Tzanetou 2012: 4.

of Athens to her allies and subjects as well”.13 According to Thucydides, as Athens’ power increased, its allies and enemies began to complain of its tyrannical nature

(1.122.3, 124.3).14 Consequently, the dramatic festival offered Athens the opportunity to portray its imperial rule in an idealized manner and show its fellow Greeks not only that their alliance was mutually beneficial, but that Athens was, in fact, the only polis that could defend them from their enemies, as they had done against the Persians a few decades before.

The recent approaches of Sophie Mills and Rebecca Futo Kennedy have sought to examine the presentation of Athens’ rule through the characterization and exploits of mythical figures closely associated with Athens, namely Theseus and Athena, respectively.15 Both scholars argue that these characters may be interpreted as representative of Athenian political identity. Mills explores the figure of Theseus in tragedy in the context of Athenian self-presentation and the Athenians’ ideal image of themselves and their city. She demonstrates that Theseus, as the representative and symbol of Athens, is consistently portrayed as an active benefactor, keeping in line with the Athenians’ desire, as their empire grew in the years following the Persian wars, to be seen by others as altruistic rather than self-serving. Tragedies featuring Theseus, Mills maintains, are “brilliant vehicles for the propagation and reaffirmation of the idealized image of Athens”.16 Futo Kennedy similarly ties together the depictions of Athena in

13 Futo Kennedy 2009: 3. 14 For references to the Athenians’ suppression of other Greeks’ freedom, see Thuc. 3.10-11, 4.60.1-2, 4.64.4-5, 5.86, 5.91-3, 5.99-100, 6.20.2, 6.69.3, 6.77.1, 6.88.1, 7.66.2, 7.68.2. While the majority of the passages cited here (with the exceptions of 6.69.3 and 6.88.1) are speeches placed into the mouth of individual speakers, rather than expressed in Thucydides’ own authorial voice, taken together, they nevertheless speak to the general sentiment felt by many city-states through Greece at the time. 15 Mills 1997 and Futo Kennedy 2009. 16 Mills 1997: 266.

Greek tragedy to changes in Athenian self-understanding and empire. Whereas the character of Theseus, according to Mills, was representative of idealized Athenian characteristics, such as wisdom and courage, Futo Kennedy views Athena as symbolic of a specifically Athenian justice. She further links the concepts of moderation and good leadership to the characterization of Athenian justice. Her work considers how Athens’ imperial transformations affected the ideals essential to Athenian democracy – justice, in particular – by means of examining changes in the figure of Athena.

A key difference between the analyses of Mills and Futo Kennedy is the way that each interprets tragedy’s treatment of the Athenian empire. For Mills, the depiction of

Theseus offers a “fixed, unchanging and ideal image of Athenian excellence” to which

Thucydides’ narrative serves as a counterpoint.17 Futo Kennedy, on the other hand, does not find in Athena’s characterization on stage a clear-cut affirmation of Athenian rule.

The plays, for her, do not attempt to mask the nature of the Athenian empire. Rather, she sees a gradual shift in the representation of how Athena, and by extension, the Athenians, exerts her power as the goddess increasingly acts not on behalf of others nor as a champion of justice but in an authoritarian manner.

Other studies have explored Athenian self-representation and empire not through the depictions of specific characters onstage, but through the presentation of specific ritual actions. Recent work has considered the treatment of sacrifice, burial practices, weddings, and coming of age ceremonies, to name a few.18 In line with this type of approach, the theme of supplication in tragedy has become a topic of increasing interest.

As Barbara Goff aptly summarizes, “supplication mobilizes dramatically issues of power,

17 Tzanetou 2012: 5. 18 See for example: Sourvinou-Inwood 2003, 2005; Dodd and Faraone 2003; and Lyons 2012.

its management and legitimate use, and the results of its inequalities”.19 The work of

Jonas Grethlein focuses on two main aspects in the analysis of suppliant drama: first, to what degree supplication and asylum are constitutive of the collective identity of the polis and, secondly, how the use of supplication in tragedy differs from that of funeral oratory.20 He suggests that the focus on Athens in suppliant plays presents a particularly suitable exploration of what it meant to be Athenian, specifically the public identity of an

Athenian as a citizen of a democratic body, through the city’s interactions with outsiders who sought her protection.

Tzanetou adds to this work, noting that the dynamics of supplication shape encounters between Athenians and foreigners in Greek tragedy, which is critical for interpreting Athenian civic identity in the theatre.21 In contrast to Grethlein’s focus on the

Athenians’ position as citizens within a democracy, she explores how the Athenians perceived themselves as rulers of an empire, by considering the ways in which Athenian suppliant plays communicate an ideology whose intent was to justify and legitimize

Athens’ hegemony. She argues that suppliant drama offered a way for the Athenians to reflect upon their relationship with allies and to process the difference between their actions and ideology. The images of empire presented in these plays are ideological, depicting Athens’ rule as the Athenians wished others to see it, and not as it was in reality. Glimpses of Athens’ historical role as ruler can be seen in the instances when

Athens encounters difficulties in accepting suppliants, such as when Demophon retracts his offer of refuge to Iolaus, Alcmene and Heracles’ children in Euripides’ Heracleidae.

19 Goff 2011: 345. 20 Grethlein 2003. 21 Tzanetou 2011: 305.

The introduction into the plot of a human sacrifice necessary for success in battle against the enemy of the Heracleidae reveals the limitations of Athens as benefactor.22 The

Athenian citizens, Demophon explains, are divided on whether they should sacrifice one of their own to help the suppliants. Rather than risk civil war, Demophon prioritizes his duty to his community. It falls instead to the Heracleidae to offer up something in return for Athens’ protection. Accordingly, it is not until one of the daughters of Heracles submits herself as willing victim that Demophon agrees to uphold his initial promise. The motif of the self-sacrifice employed here demonstrates Demophon’s need to weigh the cost and benefits of accepting the suppliants’ plea and “the discrepancy between ideal and practice and the limits of Athens’ generosity”.23 Tzanetou, like Futo Kennedy, believes that the historical realities of empire cause changes in the self-presentation of

Athens’ hegemonic image, which can be observed chronologically in tragedy through the development of Athens’ rule.

My own interpretation continues an examination into this contrast between the real and the ideal. When considered against the historical backdrop of the fifth century

BCE, the Andromache does not present a straightforward or one-sided account of

Athenian leadership. Although I do not subscribe to the same view as Tzanetou, who maintains that the Athenian suppliant plays trace a ‘progression evolution’ of the concept

22 Steinbock 2011 argues that self-sacrifice for the sake of the polis was seen as a noble act, citing in particular the myth of the Athenian king Codrus. I would suggest that the self-sacrifice of King Codrus, whose death frustrated a Doric invasion, was of a greater urgency. The Dorians had already invaded Attica and an attack was imminent. In the case of the Heracleidae, the Argive herald asserts that Athens will only risk war if they choose to accept the suppliants’ plea. He informs Demophon that of all the other poleis they have come to, no one else has dared to bring troubles upon themselves (Heracl. 145, see also 155-161, 257), a clear indication that the army would not attack unprovoked. Moreover, the nobility of the self- sacrifice lies in its connection with the ‘fine death’ and the prioritization of the polis over the self (cf. Loraux 98-118). Demophon, by favouring the safety and security of his own citizenry, arguably achieves this same outcome. Cf. Isoc. 4.64. 23 Tzanetou 2012: 88. Cf. 84-88.

of moral hegemony, I am nevertheless in agreement that the representation of Athenian hegemonic ideology in tragedy is shaped by the parameters of the changing historical circumstances of Athens’ rule.24 On the surface, the Andromache appears to validate

Athens’ hegemonic image by confronting the central tenets of Spartan freedom propaganda and demonstrating the unsuitability of the Spartans for leadership amongst

Greeks. Closely probed, however, the play exposes the imperial tendencies of the

Athenians, who frequently relied on arguments of Machtpolitik to justify their position.

The Andromache, then, I argue, speaks on two levels. This ‘double reading’ recalls Loraux’s study on the Athenian funeral oration. In questioning the intended object of the oration, Loraux speculates if we can ever be “quite sure to whom the city is speaking, to itself or to ‘the others’”.25 Following a close analysis of the texts, she concludes that the two aims of the epitaphioi are “to convince others and to convince oneself,” though she has misgivings about the efficacy of the speeches on an audience.

Nevertheless, she asserts, “whatever doubts we may express concerning the actual effectiveness of the oration, the use that was made of it in the fifth century presupposes the existence of someone else who needs to be convinced and conveys a certain confidence in the persuasive power of the logos”.26

The twofold message of the text corresponds to the two modern theories,

Gramsci’s theory of hegemony and the concept of colonial discourse, originally popularized by Edward Said, which form the theoretical basis of my analysis of the

Andromache. Taking my cue from Tzanetou, my analysis of Athenian hegemonic

24 ibid., 130. 25 Loraux 1986: 79. 26 ibid., 97.

ideology in the tragedy is based on the conception of hegemony (also referred to as cultural, intellectual, or moral leadership) as developed by the early twentieth-century

Marxist Antonio Gramsci.27 According to Gramsci, hegemony is defined as political leadership achieved by means of the consent or conformism of the dominated parties.

This consent is obtained by the dissemination of, and, ultimately, acquiescence to, the worldview of the dominant group. A significant aspect of Gramsci’s theory is precisely this distinction between leadership based on consent and domination based on force. Yet hegemony ought not to be confused with the imposition of ideology. Indeed, ideology, for Gramsci, is rather the “terrain on which men move, acquire consciousness of their position, struggle, etc.”28 Tzanetou, therefore, observes that hegemony is instead an open- ended and dynamic process that “involves an active and continuous struggle between the beliefs, ideas, and values that the dominant class seeks to impose and the social reality that exposes the disadvantages of subordination”.29 Subordinate groups will continually attempt to negotiate a version of the dominant group’s worldview that is more advantageous to them while the hegemonic group will endeavour to defend and resist counterhegemonic ideologies.

When turning to the less overt commentary offered by the Andromache on

Athens’ imperial tendencies, I rely on David Spurr’s study on colonial discourse. Spurr asks how Western authors construct representations of the realities encountered in the non-Western world and upon what cultural, ideological, or literary assumptions these depictions are based. Spurr isolates twelve rhetorical tropes, which serve as a range of

27 Gramsci 1971. 28 Gramsci 1971: 377. 29 Tzanetou 2012: 28.

methods or techniques available to any given author for the purpose of representing and writing about non-Western peoples. These modes are used as a means of establishing and legitimizing authority through the delineation of identity and difference. The colonizing group emphasizes their differences from, and, therefore, superiority over, the colonized group as a way of justifying their position. Yet, paradoxically, as Spurr observes, the colonizers will also insist upon their “essential identity” with the colonized in order to help ease the process of subjugation.30 Although Spurr applies his approach to forms of non-fiction, his very analysis depends on the use of such rhetorical conventions as myth, metaphor, and symbol, which are more commonly associated with poetic texts, and therefore is well suited to the interpretation of tragedy.31

Although hegemony and colonialism seemingly typify two distinct types of leadership, Gramsci’s and Spurr’s concepts have several aspects in common; in fact,

Spurr treats colonial discourse as ‘belonging’ to the forces of cultural hegemony.32

According to each theory, the power and position of the dominant group derives from the consent of the subordinate group(s). It is, in large part, for this reason that the leading group seeks to maintain order by ideology and representation. And yet, because the consent won by a dominant group is precarious and easily revoked, both colonial and hegemonic rule are characterized by a state of constant instability, a crisis of authority.

According to both styles of leadership, the dominant group, in order to help secure conformism to its rule, will insist that it, on some level, shares a common bond with subordinate groups, while, at the same time, maintaining that it is better suited to rule.

30 Spurr 1993: 7. 31 ibid., 2-3. 32 ibid., 6.

Hegemonic and colonial discourse, therefore, are necessarily adaptive and dynamic.

Ideology is not simply reproduced and imposed – true, as Williams explains when speaking of hegemony, “it must be continually renewed, recreated, defended and modified. [But it] is also continually resisted, limited, altered, challenged by pressures not all its own”.33 So, too, does Spurr stress that colonial discourse does not merely repeat a set of ideas: “[it] is rather a way of creating and responding to reality that is infinitely adaptable in its function of preserving the basic structures of power”.34

To return to the opening of this introduction, I suggested that a close analysis of the Andromache offers insight into the Athenians’ attitude toward their position as leaders of an empire. To this effect, a key aspect of the theories presented by both

Gramsci and Spurr is the way in which discourse and ideology is primarily directed toward the dominant group and encourages a critical self-awareness.35 The text necessarily takes place in relation to the dominant group and historical situation and is largely a reflection of, even if unconscious, and commentary on the group’s confrontation with its own values, identity, and behaviours. In this way, an examination of the

Andromache through the lens of these notions can help to illuminate the way that the

Athenians viewed their empire.

The individual chapters of this thesis explore the manifestations of Athenian hegemonic ideology in the Andromache through analysis of the depictions of the

Spartans, Athens’ rival for supremacy, and the Thessalians, its historical allies. These images are then scrutinized further in order to reconstruct the Athenians’ view of their

33 Williams 1977: 113. 34 Spurr 1993: 11. 35 Cf. Tzanetou 2012: 28.

own position as rulers of an empire. In Chapter 1, I establish the theoretical framework of my analysis. After reviewing fundamental aspects of Gramsci’s theory of hegemony, including the hegemonic principle, war of position, crisis of hegemony, and counterhegemony, I propose that Greek freedom acted as a hegemonic principle, which initially brought Greek city-states together under the leadership of Athens. Yet as Athens’ leadership gradually shifted from hegemonic to imperial in nature, Sparta developed its own freedom propaganda, which, I contend, served as a competing voice to Athens’ hegemony. These assertions will serve as the basis for the succeeding chapters, wherein I explore how the Andromache responds to Sparta’s counterhegemonic ideology and reasserts Athens’ own dominant voice.

In Chapter 2, I distinguish my own interpretive approach to the study of hegemonic ideology in Greek tragedy from that of Angeliki Tzanetou. I demonstrate that the theme of marriage offers a blueprint for viewing the union between the households of

Menelaus and Peleus in terms of a political alliance. Contemporary Athenian attitudes to the relationship between household and city, private and public, suggest that the theme of marriage found so prominently throughout the Andromache could have easily resonated with the audience as having political implications. Such an interpretation, I suggest, helps to situate my analysis of the tragedy within the historical context of its production.

Leading up to and during the Peloponnesian War, the Spartans and Athenians each made attempts to gain control of Thessaly, vying for the support of as many city-states in the region as possible. The historical connections between Spartans, Thessalians, and

Athenians could well have influenced audience members’ reactions to the presentation of such characters onstage and impacted the way they interpreted their interactions.

In Chapter 3, I turn my attention to the representation of Spartan characters in the tragedy as I examine the ways in which the Andromache reacts against the counterhegemonic ideology advanced by Sparta. Sparta’s propaganda of liberation was founded upon three primary tenets: opposition to tyranny and the enslavement of Greeks, dedication to upholding Panhellenic nomoi, and commitment to acting in the best interests of all Hellenes. In response to the competing voice disseminated by the

Spartans, Athens sought to mitigate further resistance by contesting the positive image that Sparta was promoting of herself. Consequently, the portrayal of Spartan characters in the Andromache directly challenges these three assertions and casts doubt on the sincerity of Sparta’s claims. The Lacedaemonians represented themselves as the liberators of the

Greeks in marked contrast to Athens, the so-called polis tyrannos. However, building on

Otanes’ description of monarchy in Herodotus’ Histories, I demonstrate that the depiction of Spartan characters in the Andromache reveals them to be more akin to the very tyrants whom Sparta had earned a reputation of opposing. I then dismantle Spartan claims to be acting for the common good through comparison of Menelaus’ conduct with the historical record of Sparta’s behaviour toward its allies as reported by Thucydides.

In Chapter 4, the focus of the dissertation shifts from Sparta to consider how

Athenian hegemonic ideology influences the depiction of the Thessalian characters in the play and how their portrayal offers commentary on Athens’ own relationship with its historical Thessalian allies. Here, I make use of David Spurr’s application of colonial discourse. Applying the rhetorical modes of appropriation and idealization, I demonstrate how the images of Phthian characters in the Andromache were manipulated to serve

Athenian imperial interests. I first offer an overview of the innovations that Euripides

devised in his retelling of the Andromache story. The incorporation of the character of

Peleus, for instance, was an original and intentional choice on the part of Euripides.

Peleus’ characterization reflects several of the key values of Athenian democracy and society. The figure of Neoptolemus, too, undergoes a rehabilitation from his portrayal in the mythic tradition. In the Andromache, Neoptolemus recalls the image of the hoplitic ideal. The appropriation of the Thessalian characters and redefinition of them in terms of

Athenian ideals offers commentary on the behaviour and values of Athens. In this way, the ‘colonized’ come to signify an idealized image, at times even an antithesis, of the colonizers. Thus, examination of Peleus and Neoptolemus, according to these parameters, sheds light on the Athenians’ view of themselves and their position within the empire.

This insight also helps to bridge the gap to the final chapter of the dissertation.

In the fifth and final chapter of this study, I suggest that closer examination of the seemingly clear denunciation of the Spartan characters of the Andromache reveals complications. Despite the image that the Athenians promoted of themselves in their panegyric as just, compassionate and moderate rulers, the historical picture of Athens’ rule, in reality, was more frequently based on expediency and self-interest, the very qualities for which Menelaus is criticized in the Andromache. Taking my cue from

Papadopoulou, who argues that the behaviour of the Argive envoy in Euripides’

Heracleidae mirrors Athenian Realpolitik, I contend that the words and actions of the

Spartan characters, Menelaus, in particular, reflect contemporary Athenian attitudes and policy.36 This assertion is established through two main lines of argumentation: first, I offer a systematic comparison of Menelaus’ conduct with the attitudes and principles

36 Papadopoulou 2011.

expounded by the Athenian politician and orator, Cleon, in the Mytilenean Debate from

Book 3 of Thucydides’ Histories. Next, I demonstrate that there are clear parallels between Menelaus’ behavior in the Andromache and the Athenians’ reputation in foreign policy for polypragmosyne (interventionism). Although polypragmosyne could be used to express either positive or negative connotations, the Athenians typically sought to promote, on the surface, at least, a flattering image of their interventionism in their panegyric. Yet the implications of attributing to Menelaus the negative aspects of

Athenian imperial rule are consistent with an ideological questioning of their empire and allow us to better understand Athenian perceptions of, and attitudes toward, the status of the empire, and their role within it.

Chapter 1: The Andromache and Gramsci’s Theory of Hegemony

1.1: Introduction

My arguments in this chapter are derived from Antonio Gramsci’s concept of hegemony. Gramsci’s theory has been the subject of controversy since its publication.37 It is incomplete, having been pieced together by scholars from the writings of Gramsci’s prison notebooks, and is at times inchoate. Complicating matters further, Gramsci nowhere states a clear and precise definition of how he understood hegemony.38 Margaret

King perfectly encapsulates the complexities inherent in summarizing Gramsci’s theories when she states that a “brief and systematic explication of Gramsci’s views is both difficult and risky […] because it will be necessary to compress into a brief and abstract statement ideas that are distributed through several volumes, where they are stated not abstractly but only as applied to immediate social, historical, and philosophical issues”.39

The word ‘hegemony’ itself stems from the ancient Greek noun hēgemonia, which, in a literal sense, translates as ‘leading the way’ but more commonly signifies

‘authority’ or ‘rule’.40 The idea of hegemony, consequently, had a long established history prior to Gramsci’s unique contributions to it in the first half of the twentieth century. Critical to my interpretative approach to the Andromache is Gramsci’s construal of hegemony as a form of cultural dominance. For him, an analysis of hegemony must

“address the issue of power and domination in society through the lens of culture and

37 Williams 1960: 587. 38 Cf. Lears (1985: 568), “Gramsci’s translated writings contain no precise definition of cultural hegemony”. See also Bates 1975: 351, Femia 1987: 23-26, Schwarzmantel 2015: 30-38. 39 King 1978: 24. 40 LSJ A. II.

ideology”.41 Despite the origins of the notion of hegemony in ancient society, Gramsci’s elucidation of the theory evolved out of the Marxist tradition, which itself developed in the nineteenth century. For this reason, I make a case for the applicability of the modern conceptualization of hegemony to the analysis of ancient Greek literature. To support this view, I offer a brief survey of scholars who have applied Gramsci’s theory to their own examinations of ancient Greek society and discuss how their approaches have influenced my own.

In the following pages, I lay out the foundation for my understanding of the interrelated concepts of hegemony and ideology. I begin my discussion by outlining key aspects of Gramsci’s theory. According to Gramsci, a group establishes hegemony by successfully assimilating the interests of other groups to its own, thereby securing the consent of these groups to its worldview and dominance. There exists, however, a constant tension between ideology and reality, as the prevailing worldview is ultimately premised on the particular interests of the hegemonic class. Thus, the ruling group is faced with the recurrent threat of crisis. If subordinates were to ‘detach’, that is, revoke their consent to its authority, this could provide the opportunity for another group to supplant it and occupy the dominant position.

I argue then that, in the wake of the Persian Wars, Athens seized upon the newly established value of freedom to Greek city-states and advanced an ideological campaign with Greek freedom at its core. In this way, the concept of freedom provided the hegemonic principle for its worldview, which articulated values and ideals that were central to the way of life of many of their fellow Greeks. As Athens’ rule gradually

41 Martin 1998: 2.

shifted from leadership over an alliance of peers to imperial domination, Greek cities grew discontented with the inequality of their position. Sparta took advantage of their intensifying resentment and, in turn, developed its own freedom propaganda, adapting preexisting aspects of Athens’ hegemonic discourse, and revising its traditional role and claims as leader of Greece. In the ideological struggle that followed, Athens and Sparta confronted each other on both the physical and symbolic battlefield, as each vied to win over the remaining Greek city-states in an attempt to secure dominance.

1.2: Antonio Gramsci and the Theory of Hegemony

Gramsci himself credits Lenin with the earliest development of the theory, but, as

Femia points out, the cultural emphasis now commonly associated with the term is an entirely Gramscian contribution.42 Evolving from the traditional dichotomy of ‘force’ and

‘consent’ that had long been applied in Italian political thought, Gramsci asserts that the supremacy of a group manifests itself in two possible ways: domination/coercion and intellectual/moral leadership.43 It is this second manner that constitutes hegemony.

Bates describes the basic premise of Gramsci’s theory in just a few words: “man is not ruled by force alone, but also by ideas”.44 The concept itself he views as “really very simple”, interpreting it as “political leadership based on the consent of the led, a consent which is secured by the diffusion and popularization of the world view of the ruling class”.45 Woolcock elaborates on what this worldview entails. For him, the central

42 Femia 1987: 24-25. Cf. Gramsci 1949: 32, 39 as cited by Femia. Lenin and other traditional Marxist thinkers viewed hegemony as much more rooted in economic factors. Noberto Bobbio has perceived that Gramsci’s debt to Lenin with regards to the theory of hegemony is in reality less than what Gramsci himself claims it to be (1969: 94). 43 Gramsci 1971: 57. 44 Bates 1975: 351. 45 ibid., 352.

principle of hegemony is “the ideological predominance of the cultural norms, values, and ideas of the dominant class over the dominated”.46 Martin adds an important qualification to these definitions, namely that the ideas and values proliferated by a hegemonic group serve to legitimate its power.47

According to Gramsci’s concept, a hegemonic group will seek to promote and maintain an ideology that is consistent with its own interests. Dominated groups, on the other hand, attempt to negotiate a version of this ideology that is more beneficial to them.

In response, hegemonic discourse endeavors to (re)assert its ideology by subordinating or integrating the competing voices of opposing groups. A constant struggle and tension, therefore, exists between the conception of the world diffused by the hegemonic power and that which is held by other groups.48 As a result, the establishment and maintenance of hegemony necessarily involves a continuous reaffirmation of ideology.49

Hegemony, however, cannot be reduced simply to ideological dominance.50

Hegemonic rule must be understood instead as a method of social control by which a group exerts its dominance over others by means of ideology.51 Accordingly, although hegemony aspires after social unity on the basis of a common worldview, the creation of such unity between diverse groups does not consist merely in the imposition of the ideology of one group over the others.52 Rather, the dominant group must obtain active, spontaneous consent from subordinate groups in order for its hegemony to be

46 Woolcock 1985: 204. 47 Martin 1998: 114. 48 Tzanetou 2012: 28. 49 Laclau 1977: 161; Williams 1977: 113; Mouffe 1979: 185-186. 50 Cf. Mouffe 1979: 196. 51 Cf. Femia 1987; Martin 1997, 1998: 66. 52 Mouffe 1979: 189-191.

successful.53 Hence, whereas domination is a form of command exercised by means of force and violence, hegemony is the leadership of one social group over another by means of the negotiation and production of consent. This conformism stems from the adoption of the interests of ruled groups by the ruling group, which ultimately results in what Gramsci terms a ‘collective national-popular will’. To achieve consent, therefore, the element of ideology takes on an essential role relative to force and violence.54

For this reason, it is integral that the point of view promoted by the ruling group appeal to “a wide range of other groups within the society”, and that the ruling group “be able to claim with at least some plausibility that their particular interests are those of society at large”.55 A dominant group, then, will seek to convince subordinate groups to accept its views. This may be achieved through manipulation, by persuading subordinates that it shares the same values, or, at least, by convincing them that its interests are equally beneficial to both groups, and/or through the absorption of ideological elements belonging to the subordinate groups themselves.56

It is in this respect that Gramsci’s interpretation of hegemony differs most strongly from his predecessors. The function of hegemony in his view is not limited to an instrumental, political alliance between groups but incorporates an aspect of moral and

53 Spontaneous in the sense of voluntarily given as opposed to forced compliance. This type of consent is characterized by “some degree of conscious attachment to, or agreement with, certain core elements of the society” (Femia 1987: 38). On the concept of consent and its relation to hegemony more generally, see Femia 1987: 35-50. 54 Fontana describes the use of ideology in the establishment of a hegemonic power as “the extent to which a state may present itself as leading or representing the progressive forces of history” (2000: 317). 55 Lears 1985: 571. Cf. Gramsci 1971: 161: “undoubtedly the fact of hegemony presupposes that account be taken of the interests and tendencies of the groups over which hegemony is to be exercised, and that a certain compromise equilibrium should be formed”. 56 Woolcock 1985: 206. See also Mouffe 1979: 183.

intellectual leadership.57 When conceived in these terms, hegemony leads to the creation of a collective will, whereby the interests of the dominant and dominated groups appear to be the same and the hegemonic group is perceived as representing the general interest.

The collective will, according to Gramsci, “presupposes the attainment of a ‘cultural- social’ unity through which a multiplicity of dispersed wills, with heterogenous aims, are welded together with a single aim, on the basis of an equal and common conception of the world”.58

The unity of this shared worldview is derived from an articulating principle, which Gramsci calls a hegemonic principle. As the name implies, the principle serves to articulate, that is, to join together, diverse ideological elements and so acts as the unifying principle for an ideological system.59 As with most ideas associated with his conception of hegemony, Gramsci does not provide a clear definition of this term. Mouffe offers a description of the function served by the hegemonic principle, which is worth quoting in full:

[The hegemonic principle seems to involve] a system of values the realisation of which depends on the central role played by the fundamental class at the level of the relations of production. Thus the intellectual and moral direction exercised by a fundamental class in a hegemonic system consists in providing the articulating principle of the common world-view, the value system to which the ideological elements coming from the other groups will be articulated in order to form a unified ideological system, that is to say, an organic ideology. This will always be a complex ensemble whose contents can never be determined in advance since it depends on a whole series of historical and national factors and also on the relations of forces existing at a particular moment in the struggle for hegemony.60

57 Cf. Mouffe 1979: n. 19: “if political leadership is exclusively stressed this leads to the reduction of Gramsci’s hegemony to the leninist conception of hegemony as an alliance of classes.” 58 Gramsci 1971: 349. 59 Mouffe 1979: 194. 60 ibid., 193.

As this passage suggests, a hegemonic group must supply the principle, which enables ideological elements belonging to individual groups to be fused together into a single aim and shared worldview. The leading position served by the hegemonic group is therefore critical to the attainment of this common purpose. Further, the ideological system shared by the hegemonic and subordinate groups will be comprised of elements that are directly related to, and influenced by, contemporary historical developments and events.

The balancing act required of the hegemonic group to appear supportive of the interests of subordinate groups without jeopardizing its own basic aims is a complex undertaking. Inevitably the dominant group will “come up against the limitations of its hegemony, as it is an exploiting class, since its class interests must, at a certain level, necessarily clash with those of the popular classes”.61 When this occurs, Gramsci explains, it is a sign that the hegemony of the dominant group has ‘exhausted its function’. From this point on its leadership becomes increasingly based on force and coercion, which typically results in the uprising of dominated groups against the current leadership.62

1.3: The ‘War of Position’, Crisis of Hegemony, and Counterhegemony

Gramsci adopted the language of military conflict to clarify his interpretation of the revolutionary process. Modern military experts identify two distinct methods of warfare, the ‘war of movement’ or ‘war of manoeuvre’, which consists of rapid frontal assault on an adversary’s base, and the ‘war of position’, which is based upon protracted trench warfare. Gramsci uses these strategies to illustrate the criterion necessary for

61 Mouffe 1979: 183. 62 Gramsci 1971: 60-61.

successful political revolution. In the political sphere, the war of position corresponds to a “gradual shift in the balance of social and culture forces”.63 The war of movement, on the other hand, as the name implies, constitutes the “momentary period of crisis in which political forces contend for state power; it is the arena of political combat, of military confrontation”.64 As Gramsci explains, in the absence of a prior war of position, “a seizure of state power would prove transitory if not disastrous. […] The momentarily triumphant revolutionary forces would find themselves facing a largely hostile population”.65 In other words, if a leading group should be defeated in a physical confrontation, the revolutionary force could still encounter subordinate groups who did not wish to accept new leadership. Simply because a new group rises to power does not necessarily mean that the way of life and mode of thinking established by the previous group automatically disappears. A group contending for supremacy must therefore concern itself with the effective social integration of as many subordinate groups as possible before seizing power.

In Gramsci’s view, then, the ‘war of manoeuvre’ and ‘war of position’ are “two forms of a single war – not mutually exclusive, but complementary approaches”.66 Both are required to supplant a dominant hegemonic group. A war of position is generally undertaken by an oppositional group with the intention of leading to a crisis of hegemony, wherein subordinate groups “detach” from the dominant modes of thought and start putting forward their own demands. That is to say, they no longer consent to the

63 Cf. Femia 1987: 51. 64 ibid., 53. 65 ibid., 52. 66 ibid., 206.

worldview which enabled the dominant group to rule over them. Gramsci describes the lead up to this kind of situation in the following words:

In every country the process is different, although the content is the same. And the content is the crisis of the ruling class’s hegemony, which occurs either because the ruling class has failed in some major political undertaking for which it has requested, or forcibly extracted, the consent of the broad masses (war, for example), or because huge masses (especially of peasants and petit-bourgeois intellectuals) have passed suddenly from a state of political passivity to a certain activity, and put forward demands which taken together, albeit not organically formulated, add up to a revolution. A ‘crisis of authority’ is spoken of: this is precisely the crisis of hegemony, or general crisis of the State.67

This crisis can continue over a long period of time, during which the intellectuals of the dominant group will attempt to combat its successes through a variety of recourses, such as by establishing nationalist campaigns based on appeals to patriotic sentiment or by shifting the fault to oppositional parties or ethnic minorities.68

Thus, “a ‘reversal of hegemony’ is a precondition of successful revolution”.69

This requires the creation of an alternative hegemony, a counterhegemony. But it is not as simple as substituting one hegemony for another. Gramsci envisages the following process as an integral component of the creation of a new hegemony:

What matters is the criticism to which such an ideological complex is subjected by the first representatives of the new historical phase. This criticism makes possible a process of differentiation and change in the relative weight that the elements of the old ideologies used to possess.70

The former hegemony must be disintegrated by means of disarticulating its ideological system and a new worldview must be rearticulated in its place. It follows that the creation of a new hegemony does not involve completely abandoning the existing worldview and

67 Gramsci 1971: 210. See also pp. 275-276. 68 Gramsci 1966: 42, 50, as cited by Bates. Cf. Bates 1975: 364. The concept of ‘intellectuals’ as it applies to Gramsci’s theory will be discussed shortly below. 69 Femia 1987: 53. Cf. Gramsci 1949d: 70, as cited by Femia. 70 Gramsci 1971: 195.

replacing it with another. Instead it requires a transformation through the rearticulation of pre-existing ideological elements by combining them into new patterns or by attaching new connotations to them.71 This process of ideological transformation is referred to by

Gramsci as ‘intellectual and moral reform’. In this way, the war of position is synonymous with ideological struggle, by means of which two rival groups try to appropriate and integrate the ideological elements of subordinate groups to their own ideological system and thereby obtain consent to their hegemony.72

1.4: Ideology, Intellectuals, and Athenian Tragedy

We have already seen that a successful hegemony requires the dominant group to forge a collective will between subordinate groups by means of integrating ideological elements into a shared worldview, but it remains to be seen precisely how this is achieved. Critical to an understanding of the proliferation of ideology and attainment of consent is Gramsci’s conception of the state/society. For Gramsci, it consists of two parts, civil and political society. Civil society is composed of private organisms – schools, churches, theaters, for example.73 Political society, alternatively, is comprised of public institutions – government, the army, courts. The latter exercises direct domination or coercion, but the former exerts hegemony.74 It is therefore throughout the institutions of civil society that the worldview of the dominant group is dispersed and where the consent of subordinate groups is sought.

71 Mouffe 1979: 193. 72 ibid., 198. 73 Gramsci terms these institutions hegemonic apparatuses, by means of which ideology is elaborated and spread (cf. Gramsci 1975: 332, as cited by Mouffe). 74 Cf. Gramsci 1949d: 79, 132; 1951: 72, as cited by Femia.

According to Gramsci’s concept, it is the ‘intellectuals’ who are most responsible for the creation, modification, and diffusion of modes of thought and, consequently, who will ultimately realize moral and intellectual reform. Within the general category of intellectuals, he distinguishes between two types, organic and traditional. Organic intellectuals exist in each social group and tend to have a direct role in the economic and political activity: businessmen, politicians, and so on. They help to provide leadership within their group and to develop the ideas that justify its claim to dominance. Traditional intellectuals, on the other hand, amongst whom he includes philosophers, artists, and writers, are united not by their membership to a given social group, but by their ties to culture and education. Although traditional intellectuals prefer to think of themselves as operating independently from all social groups, Gramsci notes that this is inaccurate. In due course, either because of their social origins or the activity of the organic intellectuals, they will be absorbed into one group or another. It is this process of fusion that facilitates the translation of that group’s ideology into art, literature, etc., which then is disseminated throughout society in order to form a common worldview and inspire the conformism of subordinate groups.75 Intellectuals, in this way, acted as the ‘agents’ of the dominant group in that they played a critical role in the generation of consent among civil society.76

The intellectuals, however, were not only integral to the attainment of consent from subordinate groups, they were also necessary for the very realization and maintenance of the hegemonic status of the ruling group.77 Political consciousness, that

75 King 1978: 25-26. 76 Cf. Gramsci 1971: 12. See also Martin 1998: 39-64, esp. 47. 77 Cf. Gramsci 1971: 323-343.

is, the awareness of one’s role within a hegemonic force, was a necessary precursor to political action and, therefore, a group’s ability to become hegemonic. To achieve such a level of consciousness, one first needed to learn how to criticize, that is, to think critically about, one’s conception of the world. According to Gramsci, the ability to think coherently and critically is the only way by which one can avoid conformism. It is possible then, to understand how Tzanetou can conclude that, for Gramsci, ideology is

“primarily aimed at the dominant class and seeks to promote self-understanding”.78

Martin expands on this idea, describing the role of the intellectuals in the development of critical awareness of the masses. He observes that, “political progress required that the

‘people’ be fully integrated into a state of their own. Intellectuals were in a position to educate the masses into the ‘critical understanding of self’ necessary to complete this task”.79 As Gramsci himself explains:

critical self-consciousness means, historically and politically, the creation of an elite of intellectuals. A human mass does not ‘distinguish’ itself, does not become independent in its own right without, in the widest sense, organizing itself; and there is no organization without intellectuals, that is without organizers and leaders […]. The process of development is tied to a dialectic between the intellectuals and the mass.80

In this way, we come to understand another vital aspect of the role of the intellectual, which will be taken up again in the final chapter of this study.

Consequently, it is possible to see how Greek tragedy may be interpreted as capable of contributing to the proliferation of hegemonic ideology. Of course, according to the notion of the intellectual as it currently stands, literature and the other hegemonic apparatuses seem to be reduced merely to instruments of ideological propaganda. This is

78 Tzanetou 2012: 28. 79 Martin 1998: 54. 80 Gramsci 1971: 334.

not the case. Gramsci makes clear that traditional intellectuals do not simply reproduce the ideology of the dominant group. It is important to note that traditional intellectuals do not necessarily share the worldview of the ruling group. The ideas disseminated by them will in some way, even if indirectly, serve the interests of one group or another; however, these ideas may be propagated consciously or unconsciously.81 Thus the role of intellectuals is vital to the establishment of a successful hegemony, but, since traditional intellectuals may become integrated with the organic intellectuals of any given group, whether ruling or opposing, they are also crucial in the development of counterhegemonies.82 It is arguable that in this respect the ideas circulated by traditional intellectuals replicate Christopher Pelling’s categories of ‘ideology as creed’ and

‘ideology as question’, which contribute to an interpretation of ideology as a process of legitimization.83 These individuals are equally capable of contributing to the proliferation of the worldview of the hegemonic group – i.e. ideology as creed, as they are of challenging it – i.e. ideology as question.

1.5: Modern Theory, Ancient Society

Before we proceed, it must be acknowledged that modern theories on hegemony cannot always be applied effectively in their entirety to analysis of ancient forms of leadership.84 For instance, since Gramsci was a Marxist, his concept of hegemony is strongly associated with the economy, as it was developed to address the connection between culture and power under capitalism; unsurprisingly, trade and commerce did not

81 Femia 1987: 132. 82 Woolcock 1985: 206. 83 Pelling 1997: 224-226. For more on the definition of ideology see below, Chapter 1.7. 84 See Euben 1986: 1-42 for an excellent discussion on the relevance of contemporary political theory to the study of Greek tragedy.

carry the same significance in ancient societies as it did in modern capitalist ones.85

Austin and Vidal-Nacquet have observed that, given the derivation of the term ‘economy’ from the Greek oikonomie, meaning ‘management of the house’ and its double application in both domestic and international contexts, there is little in the way of true economic thought, at least in our modern conception of the term, in Greek writing.86

Scholars’ perspectives on the ancient concept of economy are varied, but, regardless of their differences, these interpretations cannot be mapped directly on to a theory which was developed according to a modern economic system.87

In the same way, another complexity in the application of certain aspects of

Gramsci’s concept to Greek society lies in the very composition of the Greek city-state.

The ‘political’, by its very definition, necessarily involves all those activities that relate to the polis, whereas Gramsci’s distinction between civil and political society seems to imply a certain level of separation between the areas. As Femia observes, however, the distinction was “essentially analytical, a convenient device designed to aid understanding; in reality, Gramsci recognized an interpenetration between the two spheres”.88 Ideological instruments could be manipulated to meet political ends, and, in

85 Lears 1985: 568. See also Garst 1989: 25. On the lack of support for a strong connection between commercial and economic priorities and Athenian imperialism, see de Romilly 1962: 71-74 and de Ste. Croix 1972. 86 Austin and Vidal-Nacquet 1977. 87 See Finley 1973, who interprets the economy sociologically; for opposing analyses see Burke 1992, Cohen 1992, Greene 2000; see Morris 1994 for a good, albeit somewhat outdated, summary of the work on the ancient economy since Finley. Contra Rose, who, although agreeing with those who see a broad distinction between ancient and modern imperialism, nevertheless believes that economic considerations played an important role in ancient imperial motives, and that “in the rationales offered in the public sphere for imperialism to those who most directly benefit from it there are some striking continuities between the modern phenomenon that goes under the name and the very different ancient variety” (1999: 23-24). 88 Femia 1987: 27.

fact, Gramsci detected an increasing tendency towards state intervention in the organisms of civil society, particularly in the realms of culture and education.89

In classical Athens, there existed, on some level, an understanding of hegemony as leadership over, and in the interest of, equals. Aristotle offers a description of hēgemonia in terms that anticipates Gramsci’s distinction between moral and intellectual leadership versus domination (Pol. 7.1333b39-1334a4):

τήν τε τῶν πολεμικῶν ἄσκησιν οὐ τούτου χάριν δεῖ μελετᾶν, ἵνα καταδουλώσωνται τοὺς ἀναξίους, ἀλλ’ ἵνα πρῶτον μὲν αὐτοὶ μὴ δουλεύσωσιν ἑτέροις, ἔπειτα ὅπως ζητῶσι τὴν ἡγεμονίαν τῆς ὠφελείας ἕνεκα τῶν ἀρχομένων, ἀλλὰ μὴ πάντων δεσποτείας· τρίτον δὲ τὸ δεσπόζειν τῶν ἀξίων δουλεὐειν.

The proper object of practising military training is not in order that men may enslave those who do not deserve slavery, but in order that first they may themselves avoid becoming enslaved to others; then so that they may seek [hegemony] for the benefit of the subject people, but not for the sake of worldwide despotism; and thirdly to hold despotic power over those who deserve to be slaves.

This passage recalls Gramsci’s description of the ways that a social group exerts its supremacy. There is a slight distinction made between hegemony, which is employed to the benefit of the led, and despotism, which is used in the case of those who are deserving of being enslaved.90 Isocrates also conveys a similar dichotomy in his orations, whereby hegemony consists of leadership over consenting allies, and despotism constitutes the use of force and coercion over noncompliant and opposing groups.91

Thus, while it may at times seem challenging to apply Gramsci’s concept successfully to the field of Greek politics, it is by no means unfeasible nor, more importantly, unfruitful. Benedetto Fontana has detected further antecedents of Gramsci’s

89 Gramsci 1949b: 124, as cited by Femia. 90 Gramsci 1975: 2010, as cited by Fontana. 91 See Too 1995: 10-34, 36-40, 61-73.

theory of hegemony in various philosophical and theoretical themes reflected in classical political thought.92 Hegemony, conceived of as the formulation of a world-conception and its elaboration throughout society by means of the generation of consent, is one such parallel that Fontana identifies in ancient discussions on the role and nature of rhetoric in political activity and thought. He sees in the Isocratean statement, ἁπάντων ἡγεμόνα

λόγον ὄντα, ‘reason is the leader of all things’, a power relationship between logos and hegemon that is rooted in the generation and dissemination of consent.93 As he explains, the generation of consent “assumes a particular form of knowledge and practice – the art

(ars or techne) of rhetoric, which presupposes a particular relation between the speaker

(intellectual) and his audience, which, in turn, assumes a particular socio-political structure or order in existence which makes both necessary and useful the relation between the speaker/intellectual and the assembly/audience.”94 In such a system, the orator can achieve conformism to a particular system of beliefs by means of the persuasive, rhetorical techniques of public speaking.

In his analysis of Athenian democracy and the political sociology of classical

Athens, Josiah Ober also makes a case for the application of Gramsci’s concept of hegemony, albeit an inversion of it, whereby the masses were able to negotiate consent from the elite to a system of political equality despite social inequality through rhetorical communication and ideological means.95 The social structure ultimately functioned, Ober concludes, because it was rooted in ‘reciprocity achieved through discourse’. The tension

92 Fontana 2000. 93 Isoc. 3.9. 94 Fontana 2000: 308. 95 Ober 1989: 332-339. See also Ober 2017: 1-10 for a concise summary of the motivation behind the composition of Mass and Elite in Democratic Athens and the conclusions the book reaches, as well as some new insights that developed in the years following its initial publication.

that existed between the competing ideologies of the aristocracy and demos was mediated by a system that seemingly offered benefits to both groups. Through their public speech, elites consented to a worldview that legitimated and championed the political authority of the demos so that they might, in turn, be granted prestige and influence by the approval of the masses. In this way, the popular ideology proliferated by the masses appropriated traditionally aristocratic terms and ideals and channeled them into patterns of behaviour that served the interests of democracy.

Despite the success of democracy in Athens, there were, of course, those individuals who objected to it. Elsewhere, Ober argues that Thucydides’ Histories presents its audience with a counterhegemonic discourse, or as he terms it, counterideology and critical discourse, which “resists the hegemonic tendencies of

Athens’ democratic civic ideology and criticizes the apparatuses through which that ideology was formulated and maintained”.96 As part of the internal struggle between mass and elite, Ober sees many texts generated in classical Athens as reflecting the attempts of the educated elites (Gramsci’s ‘intellectuals’) to challenge and renegotiate popular civic ideology.97

While both Fontana and Ober’s analyses offer illuminating arguments on the pertinence of a theory of hegemony to Athenian thought, they relate more directly to an application of Gramsci’s concept to a specifically internal democratic context: the investigation of democratic civic ideology, the construction of civic identity, and the process of struggle between the lower and upper classes within Athens. Like Ober,

Daniel Garst finds insights on power and hegemony in the speeches and debates of

96 Ober 1994: 102. 97 ibid., 104.

Thucydides’ pages. What distinguishes Garst’s examination from that of Ober is his concentration on the manifestation of hegemony in Thucydides with respect to interstate relations and politics. Especially notable for Garst about the form of hegemony embedded in Thucydides’ history are the analogies between it and Gramsci’s own conception. Both authors, he argues, underscore the importance of persuasion and leadership (as opposed to dominance) in relation to a group’s ability to obtain and retain hegemony. As we have seen, Gramsci envisioned a successful hegemony as exemplifying more than an economic alliance between groups; it required a component of moral and intellectual leadership as well. Likewise, according to Garst’s interpretation, Thucydides did not consider military or economic capabilities the sole basis of a successful hegemonic power.98 “In Thucydides’ history,” he contends, “whether or not a state is hegemonic depends on the moral authority it is able to wield”.99

Of the aforementioned scholars, none extend their application of Gramsci’s concept of hegemony to the realm of the dramatic stage in a detailed way. However, it is not difficult to make the leap from rhetoric to tragedy.100 The analyses of Fontana, Ober, and Garst, first and foremost, reveal the contemporaneity of ideas on leadership and ideology in fifth-century Greece and Athens, which parallel the conception of hegemony later theorized by Gramsci. Like the public contexts of the lawcourts or assembly

98 Cf. Garst 1989: 20. In this respect, he argues against the interpretation of Thucydides put forward by neorealist authors who, although rightly seeing hegemony as a central concern of the history, misrepresent Thucydides’ understanding of it, imposing instead their own materialist conception of hegemony on his thought. See also Reus-Smit 1999: 56-62. 99 Garst 1989: 22. 100 Ober does include a brief section on the theater (1989: 152-155), where he notes a connection between Athenian theatrical performance and attempts at resolving contradictory social values. These ideas are elaborated upon in an article with Barry Strauss, in which the authors argue that both political rhetoric and drama are closely related forms of public speech (1990: 237-270). While their analysis makes use of Karl Marx’s ideas on political sociology and the interplay of conflict and consensus, it does not, however, directly engage with Gramsci’s concept of hegemony.

speeches that they examine, the performance of tragedy and comedy in dramatic festivals also implies a particular relationship between speaker(s) and audience.101 The composition of the dramatic audience compared to the audiences of political rhetoric did, however, differ significantly in the presence of noncitizens.102 Given the possibility of the presence of foreigners, women, and children at the dramatic festivals of Athens, the issues presented in tragic and comic performances involved but also surpassed those of internal Athenian political society to include concerns over the relations between citizens and noncitizens.103 When one considers the international character of the audience in conjunction with the civic ceremonies that took place prior to the City Dionysia, tragedy arguably offers an even more appropriate area in which to examine Athens’ ideology of imperial hegemony than political rhetoric.

Nevertheless, both Athenian drama and political rhetoric were considered to be types of public speech, which could serve equally as strategies of mass communication.

In a section of the Gorgias, Plato has Socrates suggest that tragic poetry, as it is spoken before a large crowd, the demos, is a kind of rhetorical public speaking (502c-d). Carter proposes that this description of tragedy is far from “a throw-away remark in the middle of a broader discussion of rhetoric and ethics” and ought to be taken seriously.104 Plato undoubtedly disparages rhetoric (one might add tragedy as well) by reducing it to pandering, as the passage goes on to conclude; however, the subtext tells us that both

101 This type of approach mirrors the methodology employed by scholars of new historicist studies, relabeled by David Carter as “audience studies” (2011: 7-10). Historicist critics are encouraged to view the text not simply as “a piece of literature to be studied or criticized” but as “one part of the evidence for a performance that went on between poet, actors, and audience” (2011: 7). 102 See above, n. 10. 103 Ober and Strauss 1990: 239. 104 For more on the relationship between the genres of tragedy and rhetoric, see Ober and Strauss 1990, Bers 1994, Hall 1995, and Pelling 2005.

rhetoric and tragedy are meant to have a larger purpose than mere words. It tells us that popular consensus must have viewed tragedy as sharing a political role with rhetoric, and, moreover, that this role was educative.105

This observation ties in with Gramsci’s image of the state, which he conceived of as an educator of the masses, and, by association, the intellectuals.106 According to this definition, political education is not achieved solely in the institutional context of the school, as he explains:

The educational relationship should not be restricted to the field of the strictly “scholastic” relationships […]. This form of relationship exists throughout society as a whole and for every individual relative to other individuals. It exists between intellectual and non-intellectual sections of the population, between the rulers and the ruled, élites and their followers, leaders [dirigenti] and led, the vanguard and the body of the army. Every relationship of “hegemony” is necessarily an educational relationship.107

It was precisely through these educational relationships that the processes of legitimization occurred, or alternative political ideas developed.108 Political education, as

Gramsci envisioned it, was, therefore, a dialectical process between intellectuals and the masses and constituted an integral part of the development of a successful hegemony or counterhegemony.109

The educative aspect of tragedy, however, has long been a matter of debate. In the

Poetics, Aristotle comments that the old writers (namely, the tragedians of the fifth century) made their characters speak politikōs (1450b), and in the Nichomachean Ethics, he defines the purpose of the ‘political’ as the good of mankind (1094b), thus attributing

105 Carter 2011: 55. 106 Gramsci 1971: 247, 257-264, esp. 260. Cf. Martin (1998: 52): “Gramsci conceived intellectuals primarily as educators”. 107 Gramsci 1971: 350. 108 Cf. Adamson 1980: 142. 109 Gramsci 1971: 334-335.

to the term an aspect of moral education. As Gramsci himself asserts “the political is hegemonic is educational”.110 It is unsurprising, then, that Fontana should interpret

Gramsci’s definition of the state/society in Aristotelian terms as ‘ethical’ and as an

‘educator’.111 Perhaps the most frequently cited discussion on the didactic function of tragedy is found in the extended agon scene of Aristophanes’ Frogs in which Aeschylus and Euripides debate over who is the best tragedian (830-1478). The two poets agree that a tragedian ought to be admired for his ability to improve the people in the cities (1009-

10) but they dispute the best way that this can be achieved. Dionysus provides the final word: he has travelled to the Underworld in search of a poet to save the city. The tragedian who can give the city useful (chrēstos) advice will be declared victor (1418-

21). Aristophanes, it would seem, here suggests that tragedy is political in the sense imparted by Aristotle. Although it is possible that the emphasis placed on the educative aspect of tragedy in the Frogs was not intended to be taken seriously, like Carter above,

Gregory argues in favour of Aristophanes’ reliability on this matter. As she explains, the success of a joke depends on a certain degree of cultural consensus, and so the audience must have been at least aware of a didactic function attributed to tragedy for the premises of Aristophanes’ jokes to work.112

As Ober and Strauss explain, both tragic poets and political orators could envision themselves as teachers; both strove after the improvement of their audience and made use of rhetorical communication in order to do so. The difference between the two, they remark, is that “[the orator] tries to persuade the audience to engage in a specific political

110 Fontana 2000: 313. Cf. Gramsci 1975: 1330-32. 111 Fontana 2000: 313. 112 Cf. Gregory 1991: 1-4.

action, [the poet] to persuade the audience of a more general, more ideal, but no less political truth”.113 Given both the nature of Greek tragedy as a type of public discourse performed in front of a mass audience and also the component of moral education associated with it, it can be surmised reasonably that, like rhetoric, it offers a rich backdrop for the examination of hegemonic ideology in Athenian society.

1.6: Athenian Tragedy and Hegemonic Theory

Of those scholars who do extend the application of hegemonic theory from Greek historiography and rhetoric to Athenian tragedy, most tend to focus on the relationship between mass and elite, to borrow Ober’s phrase. Mark Griffith, for example, has argued that one function of Attic tragedy was “to negotiate between conflicting class interests and ideologies within the polis”.114 The outcome of these negotiations, as he explains it, echoes Gramsci’s description of the workings of hegemonic struggle: although both groups may end up believing that their interests have been realized, in actuality the process disguises reality, that is, the intrinsic inequality of their relationship, and results in the reaffirmation of the authority of the dominant group over subordinate groups. In this capacity, then, Athenian tragedy ought to be considered one of the “key components of the hegemonic discourse: a discourse produced by the elite, but licensed and approved by the citizen masses”.115

Following Laclau and Mouffe’s declaration that every social or ideological institution can serve as a locus of hegemonic negotiation, Victoria Wohl has also adapted

113 Ober and Strauss 1990: 248. 114 Griffith 1995: 109-110. 115 ibid., 111.

Gramsci’s concept of hegemony to the interpretation of Greek tragedy.116 Her application of the theory is related to the dramatic presentation of the exchange of women and is used to illuminate the ways in which the exchange exposes, questions, and ultimately reconfirms, societal structures: class hierarchies, gender relations, and subject positions.117 Her analysis is unique in its treatment of gender rather than class alone, nevertheless it, too, largely focuses on tragedy’s role in the formulation of Athenian civic ideology.

My own approach differs from Griffith and Wohl in that it considers hegemonic struggle on a larger scale. I am not concerned as much with the Athenians’ internal class struggle as citizens within a polis, but rather the external struggle for supremacy as rulers of an empire. In this way, my interpretation of Athenian hegemonic ideology in the

Andromache is most significantly indebted to the works of Angeliki Tzanetou and David

Rosenbloom. Rosenbloom reflects on the role the tragedian plays as the voice of moral leadership in Athens. He argues that Aeschylus’ Oresteia and Persians engage with the paradoxical relationship between freedom and domination and suggests that the performances of the ruin of Agamemnon and Xerxes act as a mirror of early Athenian imperialism.118 In a similar vein, Tzanetou’s analysis of traditional Athenian suppliant drama argues that the plays, when considered against the backdrop of empire, offered commentary on Athenian interstate relations. In her view, the interactions between

Athens and the non-Athenian suppliants underwrite “an ideal model of leadership, based

116 Wohl 1998. Cf. Laclau and Mouffe 1985, esp. 176-193. 117 Wohl 1998: xiii-xxxvii, esp. xviii-xxiv. 118 Rosenbloom 1995: 91-130.

on consent and reciprocity”.119 Yet these interactions are shown to be beset with complications, which call into question the ethics of Athens’ supremacy.

Thus, while the unique perspective of each scholar considered above has helped to shape my analysis of the Andromache, my own application of Gramsci’s concept most closely follows those of Garst, Rosenbloom, and Tzanetou, whose inquiries consider how

Athenians perceived themselves as rulers of an empire rather than citizens of a democracy and also engage with the contradictions inherent in Athenian internal democratic and external imperial policies. Now that we have examined fully the fundamental principles of Gramsci’s theory of hegemony and have demonstrated their applicability to the idea of leadership in ancient Greek society, we may consider more specifically the ways in which Athenian hegemony took shape and manifested itself in the fifth century BCE.

1.7: Greek Freedom as Hegemonic Principle

Kurt Raaflaub, in his monograph The Discovery of Freedom in Ancient Greece, has argued convincingly that the political concept of freedom did not develop in Greece until the Persian Wars. It is not necessary for our present purposes to recount what conditions enabled the idea of polis freedom to develop out of the conception of personal freedom that had existed previously in the archaic period; Raaflaub does an excellent job of this in his book.120 Let it suffice to note that “awareness of the positive value of any kind of freedom (and thus the ability to coin a term for it) presupposes a strong and general consciousness of the negative value of the corresponding kind of nonfreedom

119 Tzanetou 2012: 131. 120 See Raaflaub 2004: 250-265 for a useful summary of the book’s arguments, including the development of the concept of freedom from Homeric society up to the Persian Wars, which is less relevant to our present purposes. See also 23-57.

(and with it, as a rule, the corresponding negative terminology)”.121 The Persian Wars provided just such an occasion for the Greeks. It was not until the invasions of 490 and

480/79 that mainland Greeks were faced with a real threat to their freedom by a foreign power. As a consequence, the noun eleutheria first developed under these exceptional conditions.122 The values embodied in this new word broke away from the traditional contrast of ‘slave/master’ and took on relevance to an idea of communal independence. In this way, the concept of polis freedom was initially understood in negative terms and in contrast to oppression from tyranny. Eleutheria, freedom, at this time signified that one’s polis was ‘not being ruled’ by an outside power. It was only later that it developed a positive connotation and later still that it would become associated with Athens’ uniquely democratic constitution.

In the winter of 478/77, the Hellenic League, which had been formed a few years prior to ward off the Persian invasions, was disbanded though nominally it continued. A new alliance was formed, the Delian League, this time under the leadership of Athens.

The professed purpose of the league, according to Thucydides, was threefold: to seek compensation for the losses suffered at the hands of Xerxes’ army (1.96), to achieve the liberation of the Hellenes still under Persian rule (3.10, 6.76), and to preserve the freedom of those already liberated.123 It is very unlikely that ulterior motives, aimed at acquiring power and influence amongst Greeks, did not contribute in at least some way to Athenian

121 ibid., 251. 122 Gramsci himself argues that every new social class in its struggle to assert its authority will instill into a language new usages and new connotations (1975: 33). 123 It is Thucydides himself who offers a motive of revenge for the formation of the league. He places the objective of liberating the Greeks in the mouths of Mytilenean ambassadors and the Syracusan Hermocrates, who censure Athens for violating this very aim by subjugating their allies themselves. Raaflaub suggests that the primary intention of the league was an offensive war, undertaken to secure Hellenic freedom on a permanent basis (1979). On the motives of the Delian League, see: Steinbrecher 1985: 72-86, Powell 1988: 4-11, Rhodes 1992: 34-40, Brunt 1993: 65-67.

decisions to continue the war with Persia. Still, at the time of its formation, the Delian

League seemingly fulfilled the function of a successful hegemony, that is, an alliance of groups under the leadership of a single dominant group, established toward a common objective, in this case, securing (and preserving) the freedom of the Greeks.124 According to this interpretation, one could reasonably argue that the newly developed conception of freedom acted as the unifying principle behind Athens’ initial hegemony.

In her clarification of Gramsci’s term ‘hegemonic principle’, which was discussed above, Mouffe observes that it will depend upon specific historical and national factors that are operating at a particular moment in the struggle for hegemony.125 This statement is certainly applicable to Athens’ use of the concept of freedom in its ideology and propaganda. In fact, Raaflaub makes a case that there had not been an association of freedom with imperialist tendencies prior to the rise of Athens’ leadership. What is more, he stresses that the Athenian model of hegemony, and later empire, developed under unique conditions, describing it as “the result of a specific historical constellation”.126

Thucydides (1.95-7) informs us that it was the Ionians who first asked the

Athenians to protect them from the violence of Pausanias and to become their leaders

(ἡγεμόνας σφῶν γίγνεσθαι). Following this, the rest of Sparta’s allies, with the exception of the Peloponnesian soldiers, were unwilling to yield supremacy (τὴν ἡγεμονίαν) to the newly dispatched Spartan commander any longer and elected to join the side of the

124 Cf. Thuc. 1.97.1: ἡγούμενοι δὲ αὐτονόμων τὸ πρῶτον τῶν ξυμμάχων καὶ ἀπὸ κοινῶν ξυνόδων βουλευόντων τοσάδε ἐπῆλθον πολέμῳ καὶ διαχειρίσει πραγμάτων μεταξὺ τοῦδε τοῦ πολέμου καὶ τοῦ Μηδικοῦ (‘As leaders of allies who were at first autonomous and made decisions in general meetings, the Athenians proceeded to the following actions, both in warfare and in the direction of political affairs, between the war with the Medes and this war.’). 125 Cf. n. 60. 126 Raaflaub 2004: 192-193. Contra Larsen 1962; Aymard 1967: 343ff; Austin and Vidal-Naquet 1977: 125-6; Hasebroek 1926: 4-5.

Athenians as well. Thus, Athens received leadership of the league through the voluntary consent of its allies.127 It was true that Athens’ allies were expected to contribute either money or ships to the efforts of the league, but, at that time, the benefits offered by their affiliation with it outweighed the costs. Moreover, they had entered into the alliance as equals; policy was determined through joint consultation with each polis having a single vote.128

As early as the 460s the first real signs of change were visible with Athens’ subjugation of Naxos and Thasos.129 By approximately 450, however, when warfare with the Persians ceased, Athens’ domination had become more clearly pronounced.130 The league had now fulfilled its original aim of liberating Hellenes from the Persians. Like the failed Egyptian expedition a few short years before (454 BCE), this moment was seen as a turning point; according to Raaflaub, both events prompted a “crisis in the

127 Cf. Thuc. 1.96.1: παραλαβόντες δὲ οἱ Ἀθηναῖοι τὴν ἡγεμονίαν τούτῳ τῶ τρόπῳ ἑκόντων τῶν ξυμμάχων διὰ τὸ Παυσανίου μῖσος, ἔταξαν ἅς τε ἔδει παρέχειν τῶν πόλεων χρηματα πρὸς τὸν βάρβαρον καὶ ἃς ναῦς (‘After assuming the leadership in this way, on the wishes of the allies because they hated Pausanias, the Athenians fixed the assessment for both the cities required to contribute money against the barbarian and the ones required to contribute ships.’). 128 Judith Toland, in discussing the correlation between state building and the dialogue of self and other, explains that the maintenance of statehood, just as hegemony is sustained, depends on consent on the part of subordinate groups. This consent is primarily based on the preservation of a ‘perception of mutuality’, which the subordinate members of the state share with the dominant group. In order to maintain an impression of community and reciprocity over time, the dominant group must demonstrate to the subordinate group(s) that the losses they incur as members of the state is balanced by the gains which that membership affords them (1993: 1-20, esp. 3, 8). To that effect, Raaflaub observes that initially, when joining the Delian League, most poleis had willingly renounced certain freedoms in exchange for the protection and benefits afforded them by membership in the league (2004: 138-139). 129 On Naxos, see Thuc. 1.98.4. For Thasos, see Thuc. 1.100-101. Meiggs has termed the enslavement of Thasos the “first unambiguous sign of tyranny” (1972: 86.). In contrast, Raaflaub sees these conflicts as “unrelated, variously motivated actions, undertaken mainly in fulfillment of Athens’s hegemonic function and presumably with the consent of a majority of the allies” (2004: 121). 130 The Peace of Callias is a peace treaty supposedly concluded around 449 BCE between the Delian League and Persia. Its authenticity has been the subject of debate amongst scholars for several decades. I follow Badian 1987, who maintains that a peace, in some form, between these two groups must surely be authentic. For our present purposes especially, an exact date for the peace treaty is not necessary, nor is it of particular significance who was responsible for the implementation of such an agreement. Rather, the mere existence of a peace and the general chronology are of greater importance to my argument.

alliance”.131 Although the shift from symmachy to arche had begun earlier, the process appears to accelerate around this time, likely in response to these crises. It is not clear precisely when the change started nor what specific causes contributed to this transformation, but it is evident that Athens soon began to rely increasingly on the use of force against not only its opponents but also its allies. What had originally been undertaken as an alliance among equals was quickly reduced to an empire. Athens’ allies, who had previously witnessed a loss of sovereignty in the realm of interstate relations as

Athens gradually consulted them less and less in league actions and policies, now also experienced a loss of autonomy, when Athens began to interfere in their internal affairs as well. Much in the way that Gramsci describes a crisis of hegemony, Athens’ abuses of its power and repeated infractions against its allies resulted in the withdrawal of their consent to its supremacy. No longer content to accept without question the worldview that Athens promoted, they started putting forward their own demands, of which a primary concern was their communal self-determination.132

Raaflaub posits that the earliest signs of the concept of freedom being employed for propagandistic use appear immediately following the Persian Wars.133 In the years that followed, disagreements arose between Sparta, Athens, and their respective allies, leading to the First Peloponnesian War (460-445 BCE). A peace, intended to last for thirty years, was struck between Sparta and Athens in 446/445 BCE, wherein each polis conceded a mutual recognition of their individual spheres of authority. Ultimately, the

131 Raaflaub 2004: 120. 132 The pervasiveness of this concern is attested to by the development of a new term, autonomia, whose precise meaning was separated out from the definition of eleutheria (Raaflaub 2004: 259). 133 Raaflaub 2004: 118-122. Tzanetou traces the initial development of Athenian hegemonic ideology to the beginnings of the Athenian alliance of 478/7 BCE. She speculates that the arguments employed by the Athenians to support their leadership at that time likely already served an ideological purpose, ‘albeit limited’ (2012: 67-68).

peace failed, and as hostilities between what Raaflaub terms the Athenian and Spartan

‘power blocs’ intensified in the late 430s, the use of the concept of freedom increased still further.134 Athens had already positioned itself as a viable candidate for prostates of the

Greeks beyond its leadership of the Delian League as early as the Persian Wars. In demanding both political and military leadership, however, the Athenians had needed to demonstrate that they were capable of successfully fulfilling the role. To this effect,

Athens claimed to have served the interests of Greek freedom by defeating the Persians at

Marathon and then sacrificing their city to them in 480 BCE, by supporting the Ionians in their revolt and opposing Sparta’s proposal to relocate them in mainland Greece, and even by fighting against fellow Greeks, who threatened the freedoms of others, at

Tanagra and Oinophyta. Without the endorsement of the religious authority of Delphi, the

Athenians needed their leadership to be legitimized as capable – and worthy – by proven achievement. Thus, Athens’ claim was rooted in its contributions to the struggle for

Greek freedom. Out of this need the Athenians developed a rhetoric consisting of certain motifs or set pieces that justified their rule. Admittedly, much of our evidence derives from the last third of the fifth century, after the outbreak of the Peloponnesian War, when the Athenians were faced with criticisms of their rule and, therefore, confronted with the need to account for their supremacy.135 Herodotus, however, though writing years after the Persian Wars, has the Athenians seek, and ultimately secure, a leading position prior to the battle of Plataea based on the mythical exempla of its generosity toward the children of Heracles, the burial of the seven against Thebes, and its victory against the

134 ‘Bloc’ is also the terminology used by Gramsci to describe groups capable of wielding hegemony. Cf. Martin 1998: 81-85; Gramsci 1971: 175-185. 135 Raaflaub 2004: 166-172.

Amazons (9.27).136 It is not difficult to suppose that these types of proofs were familiar soon after the Persian Wars and used to validate Athens’ supremacy even before its leadership required defending.137

1.8: Athenian Hegemonic Ideology

As resentment against Athens’ increasingly oppressive behavior toward its allies grew, the stories of the Athenians’ laudable actions, both past and present, mythical and historical, solidified into an ideology designed to paint Athens in a flattering light. It seems appropriate at this time to pause in order to discuss the complex notion of

‘ideology’. In terms of ancient Greek society, and more especially, Athenian society, one can speak of many different iterations of ideology: civic, democratic, imperial, hegemonic, to name a few. There is necessarily a certain amount of overlap between the categories; after all, an Athenian citizen could simultaneously identify as a member of a democratic polis, ruler of an empire, and so on.

My own definition of ideology, broadly speaking, parallels that of Finley, who suggests that ideology is “the combination of beliefs and attitudes, often unformulated or subconscious and certainly neither coherent nor necessarily consistent, which underlay…thinking and…behaviour”.138 More specifically, however, I follow Terry

Eagleton, who, in his book Ideology, notes that ideology relates not simply to systems of belief, but more specifically, to questions of power.139 Perhaps one of the most widely accepted views of ideology in this sense is that it signifies “ideas and beliefs which help

136 Loraux makes use of this same passage to trace the traditional topoi of the epitaphioi back to the 460s (1986: 56-76). 137 Cf. Mills 1997: 46-47; Tzanetou 2012: 22. 138 Finley 1982: 17. 139 Eagleton 1991, esp. 1-31.

to legitimate the interests of a ruling group or class specifically by distortion and dissimulation”.140 To this definition, Eagleton adds the qualifying statement that “such beliefs [arise] not from the interests of a dominant class but from the material structure of society as a whole”. This modification avoids the imposition of a class character to ideology (i.e. that ideology must be associated with a dominant political power), which allows for the possibility of oppositional ideologies.

Gramsci’s interpretation of ideology has been accused by some of being overly reductionist, that is, of reducing ideology to the expression of a social group or class.141

Mouffe, however, has convincingly demonstrated that this accusation is unfounded.142

The very nature of Gramsci’s conception of intellectual and moral reform makes such an assertion impossible. For Gramsci, ideological elements do not intrinsically possess a class character but acquire a particular association through their articulation to a hegemonic principle, which serves to unify them into an organic ideology. It is for this very reason that ideological elements, in his view, have the ability to be transformed through their articulation to another hegemonic principle. Ideology for Gramsci is, undoubtedly, generally associated with a dominant group, however, a key distinction in his conception is that a group may become hegemonic before seizing power. It is not, therefore, necessarily limited to a single, dominant mode of thinking.

In the context of hegemony, then, ideology “must be seen as a battle field, as a continuous struggle”, and should not be conceived as static and unchanging, but rather as

140 ibid., 30. 141 Poulantzas 1973. 142 Mouffe 1979: 188-195.

a dynamic and evolving entity.143 In this way, my approach to ideology and hegemony also follows that of Ober, Rose, Tzanetou, and Wohl, all of whom treat ideology as a possible locus of contestation.144 In her review of City of Suppliants, Sophie Mills takes issue with Tzanetou’s argument for a progressive development of Athens’ imperialist ideology and concept of moral hegemony in the Athenian suppliant plays.145 While I am not fully convinced that it is possible to detect a discernible evolution in the presentation of Athens from a “city of justice” to a “free city”, and lastly, a “pious city” and to attribute these developments to key historical transitions in the empire, as Tzanetou does,

I do agree that Athens’ hegemonic ideology should be viewed as dynamic and influenced by lived relations and experiences.146 This position, in fact, is critical to my own analysis of ideology in the Andromache, as I argue that Athens’ hegemonic ideology responds and reacts to Sparta’s counterhegemonic ideology.147

In discussing Athenian hegemonic ideology, I refer to the matrix of ideas that encouraged and reinforced the image of Athens as a leader of the Greeks. In contrast to imperial ideology, which, I would argue, is less concerned with the moral undertones associated with hegemonic leadership (consider Athens’ increasing use of the law of the

143 Mouffe 1979: 185-186. Cf. Gramsci 1975: 1236, as cited by Mouffe. Mouffe (1979: 188) explains that while Gramsci’s text first introduces these ideas, he does not provide an elaborate theory of ideology; his thoughts are not presented in a systematic way. So, it is Louis Althusser, picking up where Gramsci left off, who first formulates the conception of ideology as essential to all social formations and as a locus for struggle in a clear and precise manner. For Althusser on ideology, see 1971: 32-60. See also Pelling (1997: 224-235), who discusses the similar element of ideology ‘as question’, whereby individuals may question and explore ideological values. 144 Ober 1989, Rose 1995, Tzanetou 2012, and Wohl, who, for example, argues that tragedy neither enforces nor opposes Athenian ideology, but “rather it is engaged in an ongoing and contentious process of formulating, reformulating, articulating, and interrogating an ideology that itself, like tragedy, contains the possibility of its own critique” (1998: xxiii-xxiv). 145 Mills 2013. 146 Tzanetou 2012: 129-132. 147 Millender likewise seems to advocate for a similar position, as she describes the shift by Athenian authors from a focus on the enemy in the East to the Peloponnesus as a response to changes in Athenian ideology and a progression of Athens’ hegemonic ambitions in the fifth century (1996: 30).

stronger and Machtpolitik), hegemonic ideology emphasizes an ideal image of Athens as a leader, who rules by the willing consent of its allies, and who selflessly and tirelessly works for the common good. That said, to my mind, part of what distinguishes hegemonic from imperial ideology is just that – the idealized nature of hegemonic rule.

Recall that according to Gramsci’s concept, a fundamental aspect of hegemonic discourse consists of the “struggle between the beliefs, ideas, and values that the dominant class seeks to impose and the social reality that exposes the disadvantages of subordination”.148

Thus, Athenian panegyric frequently strives to present what, in reality, had become an empire as hegemony. Consequently, Tzanetou can say that “[the] statements that the

Athenian suppliant plays make about empire are ideological, offering an image of

Athens’ relations with other Greeks not as they actually were but as the Athenians purported them to be”.149 To be sure, Athens’ hegemonic ideology also often intersects with other forms of its ideology, just as an Athenian may at once identify as, for example, a citizen, a man or woman, commoner or aristocrat. Indeed, Athenian hegemonic ideology overlaps with its democratic ideology, since many of the qualities that were embedded in the democratic constitution, isegoria (equal right of speech), isonomia

(equality of political rights), or parrhesia (free speech) for instance, were also championed by Athens’ ideology of hegemony as vital components of its position of supremacy.150 It also exists side by side with Athenian imperial ideology, for both hegemonic and imperial discourse share many similarities in their representation of the

148 Tzanetou 2012: 28. 149 ibid., 6. 150 These types of democratic values were strongly linked to the image of Athens as a unique city, superior to other poleis, possessing certain exceptional qualities which enabled it to assist its fellow Greeks. Cf. Raaflaub 2004: 168-169, 175, see also 203-249.

relationship between ruler and ruled, and, as we will see in Chapter 5, close inspection of the text of the Andromache reveals the cracks in the idealized image of Athenian rule.

This ideal image of Athens, then, was formed from Athenian claims to certain virtues – generosity, courage, justice, piety – for example, which were generally viewed by Greeks as Greek qualities, but increasingly associated with Athens specifically. A set of standard paradigms, both mythical and historical, of Athenian exploits took shape, which would prove to be foundational to Athenian hegemonic ideology and used frequently in Athenian discourse and literature, particularly in moments when the empire required defending.151 Nicole Loraux has demonstrated that Athenian funeral orations could be studied as examples of ‘hegemonic speech’, logos hegemonikos. In these speeches, she aptly distinguishes between imperial ideology and hegemonic, where “the evocation of Athenian greatness has precedence over that of its power”.152 In contrast to assembly speeches or decrees, Athenian panegyric, such as the epitaphioi, present an ideology that disguises Athens’ power as virtue, arete.153 Thus, Athenian hegemonic ideology comes to make use of stories of Athens’ achievements as justification for their superiority.

It follows that an important corollary of Athenian hegemonic discourse was the construction of Greek identity. The emergence of a concept of polis freedom during the

Persian Wars had a significant impact on the ways in which Greeks conceived of themselves as a group. For the first time, the barbarian world was envisioned collectively

151 Consider Hdt. 9.27; Thuc. 1.73.2, 2.36.4; Lys. 2.11; Pl. Mx. 239b; Dem. 60.9. 152 Loraux 1986: 88. 153 Cf. Mills 1997: 43-86, who also interprets Athenian panegyric as rooted in the idea of arete. Drawing on Loraux, albeit with some hesitations, Mills considers Greek tragedy rather than the funeral orations.

in contrast to the Greek world.154 Greeks perceived many differences between themselves and non-Greeks, however, perhaps the most prominent distinction was political in nature.155 Tyranny and equality were viewed as antithetical values and so, while the

Greek world saw itself as consisting of free poleis and citizens, that of the barbarians was believed to be composed of inferior and slavish subjects. Edith Hall perfectly encapsulates the relationship of the Greek/barbarian polarization to Athenian dominance when she states that:

The invention of the barbarian in the early years of the fifth century was a response to the need for an alliance against Persian expansionism and the imposition of pro-Persian tyrants: but the tenacity of the polarizing ideology after the wars can only be fully understood in the context of the whole conceptual system which underpinned Athenian supremacy.156

Hall’s words demonstrate how deeply intertwined the concepts of Greek freedom and identity were and how both played an integral role in Athens’ hegemonic ideology. The discourse that developed during the Persian Wars around the representation of non-

Greeks and political identity was specifically formulated, at least in part, to inspire and foster a sense of collective identity and purpose amongst Greeks against a common enemy. As the Delian League evolved into an Athenian empire, this same discourse was adapted to meet the needs of a new rival, as we will see below.

I follow here Ellen Greenstein Millender, who has argued persuasively that in the context of the increasing tensions between Athens and Sparta, authors of the fifth century adopted the barbarian stereotype, transferring attributes commonly associated with this

154 On the construction of a barbarian antitype (the “anti-Hellene”) in the Archaic period, see Millender 1996: 5-16; similarly, see Hall 1989: 19-55 for the representation of the non-Greek world in archaic literature. 155 Hall refers to a political distinction as the “corner-stone of the conceptual polarization of Greek and barbarian” and notes that rhetoric of the barbarian places “overwhelming emphasis on the respective political ideals of Greek and non-Greek” (1989: 16). 156 ibid., 16-7.

construct to Spartan figures. As a part of this appropriation, authors intentionally altered the contemporary conception of the “non-Hellene” in order to incorporate and account for perceived Spartan differences. The characterization of Sparta as “the Other” and the antithesis of Athens developed in response to internal and external criticism of Athenian imperialistic policies and worked in tandem with Athenian democratic ideology.

Millender supports the view that democratic ideology, as discussed above, helped to legitimize Athens’ leadership by creating and circulating an image of it as defender of

Hellas. She elaborates on this view by suggesting that Athenian-based authors validated

Athens’ hegemony by means of two interwoven processes. First, writers depicted “the system of values underlying Athens’ democratic constitution, along with the social order and foreign policies which it engendered, as normative, if not superior”.157 Next, they used the core (even if perceived) principles of Spartan society as a negative reference point, measuring them against Athenian norms in such a way as to demonstrate their inferiority.158 The treatment of Sparta in fifth-century texts, therefore, should be seen as contributing to an ideology that justified Athenian supremacy while simultaneously undermining Spartan influence and leadership in Greece.

1.9: Spartan Freedom Propaganda as Competing Voice

In the years leading up to the outbreak of the war the Spartans developed a program of liberation, which promoted Sparta’s traditional role as prostates, leaders, of

157 Millender 1996: 4. 158 A significant viewpoint of Millender’s dissertation is that fifth-century representations of Spartans were based on Athenian political and cultural values and, therefore, tell us far more about Athenian self- perception and its attempts to integrate its domestic values, which were grounded in equality, with its foreign policy than about historical Sparta and its institutions. Cf. Millender 1996: 4-5. On modern approaches to the Athens/Sparta polarization, with supporting bibliography, see 17-36.

the Greeks.159 Claiming to be the liberators of Hellas, the Spartans maintained that they sought, by entering into war with Athens, to protect victims of injustice and to give aid to all those who had suffered from Athenian aggression (Thuc. 1.67.2-3). Spartan claims to leadership offered an alternative to Athenian allies who were becoming increasingly dissatisfied with the direction that Athens’ rule was taking. At this time both the Spartans as well as many of Athens’ allies voiced complaints about Athens’ behaviour.160 They accused it of acting tyrannically and of interfering in the affairs of other city-states161, not out of generosity and a concern for justice, but for its own advantage.162 The Spartans’ program of liberation, then, offered other Greek city-states an alternative ideology, or, a competing voice, to use Gramsci’s vocabulary, which explicitly challenged Athens’ position as leader of Greece.

159 On Sparta’s use of a program of liberation see, Thuc. 2.72.1, 2.8.4-5, 3.13.1, 3.59.4, 4.85.1, 4.85.5, 4.86.4-5, 4.87.2-6, 4.108.2, 4.114.3-4. Raaflaub offers a thorough examination of the concept of freedom in ideology and propaganda, including a section on Sparta’s use of ‘freedom’ as a political tool in the time both leading up to and during the Peloponnesian War (2004: 166-202, esp. 193-202). 160 On those who feared Athens’ increasingly imperialistic rule, see Thuc. 1.75, 5.91, 5.95. 161 On Athens as tyrant, see Thuc. 1.122.3, 124.3. On the Spartans’ message to free Greeks from Athenian tyranny, see Thuc. 2.72.1, 3.13.1, 3.59.4, 4.85.1, 4.85.5, 4.86.4-5, 4.87.2-6, 4.108.2, 4.111.3-4. On Athens’ suppression of Greek freedom see, Thuc. 3.10-11, 4.60.1-2, 4.64.4-5, 5.86, 5.91-93, 5.99-100, 6.20.2, 6.69.3, 6.77.1, 6.88.1, 6.66.2, 6.68.2. 162 Despite the idealistic image of Athens presented in the Athenian suppliant drama, in Thucydides’ historical account of the Peloponnesian War, Athenian individuals themselves acknowledge that Athens’ power offers certain advantages. Pericles, in his funeral oration, recognizes that all the good things that are imported into Athens from across the entire world are owed to the greatness of their city (Thuc. 2.38.2). Loraux sees the Melian debate as the moment at which the Athenians “give up any attempt to conform to the ideal that they are claiming to embody” (1986: 294). It is during this debate that the Athenians declare that those who are superior do what is practicable, while those who are weak acquiesce (Thuc. 5.89.1). Human beings, according to the necessity of their nature, rule wherever they can (Thuc. 5.105.2). When seeking to gain support from Camarina in their Syracusan campaign, the Athenians suggest that the Camarinians ought not reject the advantages that Athenian character and foreign policy can provide (Thuc. 6.87). In this instance, Athens offers to extend the benefits that result from its rule to non-Athenians, yet the use of the prohibitive subjunctive (μὴ ἀπώσησθε) appears to limit the Camarians’ capacity to refuse its proposal. Although Athens’ claims to offer security “common to all who desire it” (τὴν κοινὴν τῷ […] δεομένῳ), the Camarian debate seems to suggest that Athens, in reality, elects assist, or not to assist, others as it sees fit, depending on what advantages they might be able to offer the city.

According to Gramsci, the establishment of a counterhegemony necessarily involves the rearticulation of preexisting ideological elements to the worldview of a competing group. This is precisely what happened with the creation of Sparta’s program of liberation. Certainly, as Athenian oppression of its allies increased, criticisms of

Athenian leadership also multiplied. Athens’ hegemony, which had been built on the premise of defending Greeks from Persian tyranny, was itself occasionally equated with tyranny, a characterization which was likely introduced by Athenian opponents or victims of its policies.163 Such an association was undoubtedly intended by Athens’ rivals or subjects to evoke a negative image of its rule and arose in response to Athens’ self- serving policies, increasing use of force against the allies, and tendency to disregard their autonomy. Out of these criticisms emerged the phrase polis tyrannos. Like the evidence of Athens’ hegemonic ideology, the earliest surviving testimony for the application of this phrase dates to the late 450s and early 440s BCE, although compelling reasons for such a comparison probably existed long before.164 Unsurprisingly, the emergence of this phrase corresponds to the period Raaflaub associates with crises in the alliance.165 These criticisms made possible changes in the way Athens’ allies understood elements of its ideology, enabling them to perceive the injustices and inequalities of Athenian hegemony.166

Sparta seized upon this opportunity and Athens’ use of the concept of freedom in its hegemonic ideology, developing their own rhetoric of freedom. As Mouffe elucidates,

163 Raaflaub 2004: 133-134. 164 ibid., 141-143. 165 Cf. n. 131. 166 Cf. n. 80. Such an outcome resembles the process of demystification, or, in other words, the exposure of “a regulated and fragmented world view imposed in the interest of social control” (Sallach 1974: 46).

a counterhegemony, if it is to become successful, ought not to make “a clean sweep of the existing world-view and [replace] it with a completely new and already formulated one”, but rather, it requires “a process of transformation […] and of rearticulation of existing ideological elements”.167 It can be argued, then, that Sparta adopts – and adapts – the concept of freedom to its own counterhegemonic discourse in order to challenge Athens for its dominant status.

The discovery of the political value of the concept of freedom had major implications for the interstate relations between Greek cities. By the time of the outbreak of war between Sparta and Athens, then, ‘freedom’ had become a fluid and mutable concept, “freely usable in every way one wished”, as Raaflaub observes. It had, moreover, he continues, “developed into the centerpiece of political programs and the subject of intense propaganda. Claim and reality, what was said and what was thought, might differ greatly and even contradict each other completely”.168 Perhaps unsurprisingly, given the length of the war that resulted from conflict between the two leading cities, both the Athenian and Spartan rhetoric of freedom were fairly effective as political weapons, in large part because each, at the time of its growth, responded to a widespread need and because each endeavoured to incorporate the varying interests of its allies.169

If the Athenians’ subject-allies were to support the new ideas promoted by Sparta, the former would lose the consent of these subordinate groups necessary to the

167 Mouffe 1979: 192. 168 Raaflaub 2004: 181. 169 ibid., 181, 201-202. On the general support of many Greeks for Sparta’s campaign, at least at the beginning of the war, see Thuc 2.8.4: ἡ δὲ εὔνοια παρὰ πολὺ ἐποίει τῶν ἀνθρώπων μᾶλλον ἐς τοὺς Λακεδαιμονίους, ἄλλως τε καὶ προειπόντων ὅτι τὴν Ἑλλάδα ἐλευθεροῦσιν (‘men’s feelings inclined much more to the Spartans, especially as they proclaimed themselves the liberators of Hellas’).

maintenance of their hegemony. Athenian hegemonic discourse, I argue, reacts to this challenge, incorporating ideological elements that served to counter this resistance.

Athens represented itself as the best embodiment of panhellenic ideals. Athenian ideology embraced traditional Hellenic morals and values, which were widely held and esteemed throughout the Greek world. In this way, Athenian hegemonic discourse worked to demonstrate to subordinate groups that the Athenian worldview shared their values and that Athens’ interests were beneficial to all of them. At the same time, it also contributed to the subversion of the competing voice of the Spartans, by revealing that they did not share the same values as the other Greek city-states and that their interests were incompatible.

1.10: Summary

In this chapter, I have outlined some of the key components of Gramsci’s theory of hegemony and argued for their relevance and applicability to the interpretation of ancient Greek society and literature. I suggest that the notion of Greek freedom acted as the articulating principle that united Greek city-states in a common worldview and thereby secured Athens’ position of leadership amongst them. Leading up to the outbreak of the Peloponnesian War, Athens’ allies were faced with greater restrictions on their autonomy and were becoming progressively more resentful toward its dominant role within the hegemony. The Spartans took advantage of these established ideological elements and their prior reputation against tyranny in developing their own program of liberation. Their messaging manifested itself as a counterhegemony to Athens’ hegemonic discourse and helped to achieve the following: first, it opened the eyes of the

Greeks to the inequalities of their relationship with Athens, and second, it provided them

with an alternative worldview. Unsurprisingly, Athens was unwilling to relinquish its dominance and sought to combat Sparta’s freedom propaganda.170 The ideological struggle that ensued is called a war of position, the purpose of which, for the Spartans, was intended to bring out a crisis in authority and enable another hegemonic group to rise to power.

These arguments will inform my analysis of the Andromache throughout the following chapters. In the next chapter, we will see how Tzanetou argues that the positive depiction of Athenian leadership in Athenian hegemonic ideology allowed for Athens to disassociate itself from criticisms of its imperial rule. The representation of the city as benefactor and protector helped both to validate and endorse its position of authority.

Taking my cue from this approach, in the subsequent three chapters, I demonstrate that the Andromache reflects ideological principles comparable to traditional Greek suppliant plays, despite the absence of any overt depiction of Athens onstage. More specifically, I trace the manifestation of Athenian hegemonic ideology in relation to three groups, the

Spartans, Athens’ rival for domination, the Thessalians, Athens’ historical allies, and finally, the Athenians themselves.

170 “But do [the ruling classes] then step aside peaceably and voluntarily? Not according to Gramsci” (Femia 1987: 207).

Chapter 2: The Andromache, Athenian Suppliant Drama, and

Marriage

2.1: Introduction

In the previous chapter, I outlined the theoretical basis for my interpretation of the

Andromache; however, while the arguments of my thesis derive from Gramsci’s theory of hegemony, I owe much of my methodological approach to Angeliki Tzanetou’s important book on the interrelatedness of Athenian hegemonic ideology and drama. I begin this chapter by providing a synopsis of the predominant arguments of Tzanetou’s book. By reviewing the parameters of her analysis, I am able to differentiate my own approach to the topic of Athenian hegemonic ideology within the Andromache. I focus my summary here with the example of Tzanetou’s chapter regarding the Heracleidae, which centers on the contention that the play responds to Sparta’s claims of being the liberator of Hellas, delivering its fellow Greeks from subjugation at the hands of Athens, the polis tyrannos. My own analysis of the Andromache complements Tzanetou’s approach. In the conclusion of the chapter, she notes that, “[as] opposition to the empire continued to mount, message of Athens’ moral hegemony turned more defensive…illuminating the process through which the plays continued to adapt the core message of the hegemonic ideology against the changing realities of Athens’ rule”.171 To that effect, I argue that the Andromache also engages with Sparta’s counterhegemonic ideology, that is, its freedom propaganda. Contrary to Tzanetou’s line of argumentation, I suggest that the hegemonic ideology of the Andromache operates in a more offensive

171 Tzanetou 2012: 104.

way. Instead of openly advocating for Athens’ worldview, it seeks rather to contest and combat the positive message Sparta was circulating about itself at the time.

Tzanetou suggests that supplication in the Athenian suppliant tragedies allows for an analysis of Athens’ relationship with its imperial allies. I establish first that the

Andromache in many ways echoes the suppliant patterns found in traditional suppliant drama. Yet the absence of an Athenian character in our play makes a direct application of

Tzanetou’s method challenging. For this reason, this study of the Andromache largely examines the way that the drama engages in the ideological struggle between Athens and its adversary, Sparta, rather than its allies. The lack of an overt Athenian presence in the dramatic narrative also requires a different lens by which to consider the manifestation of

Athenian hegemonic ideology. In further contrast to Tzanetou then, I put forward that the theme of marriage in the Andromache offers a comparable opportunity for analysis as does supplication.

Marriage has previously been considered a central theme of the Andromache by numerous scholars, many of whom have used it to comment upon the contested unity of the play.172 Before continuing with my analysis, it should be mentioned that, although this thesis considers the political undertones perceptible in the theme of marriage and throughout the Andromache more generally, this examination does not, nor should it, preclude other interpretative approaches.173 The motif of marriage also presents the opportunity to explore many issues related to women’s experiences as wives and as

172 See below, n. 179. 173 Cf. Griffith 2011: 6, “It would seem silly, indeed, for anyone nowadays to seek to undo or contradict completely the scholarly efforts of these last few decades, and to insist instead solely on the formal- aesthetic, or philosophical or – any single: you-name it- ‘meaning’ or ‘purpose’ of the plays instead, as if plays (or books, or movies…) have only one kind of meaning and work in only one kind of way on their audience(s)/reader(s)”.

mothers. It has been argued, for instance, that the themes of marriage and concubinage in the Andromache offer meaningful commentary on Athenian social conditions, such as the institution of marriage or Pericles’ citizenship law.174 Peleus’ invective against

Lacedaemonian women (592-623), to highlight one example from the play, which does not factor explicitly into our own discussion, can be viewed as participating in a social commentary on the perception of Spartan women’s freedoms.

In the remainder of the chapter, I demonstrate how marriage acts as a focus for my discussion of the political relationships in the play. I argue that marriage is rendered as an analogy for political alliance not only within the Andromache but frequently, on a larger scale, throughout much of Greek literature. This interpretation is all the more convincing when considered in light of the historical relationship between Sparta and

Thessaly (and Athens).

2.2: Hegemony, Suppliancy, and Tragedy: Tzanetou’s City of Suppliants

In her monograph, Tzanetou argues persuasively that in Greek tragedy the portrayal of Athens as a city that welcomed foreign suppliants offers insight into the

Athenians’ view of their empire and works to justify this empire by representing it as a moral hegemony based on reciprocity between leader and allies and the consent of subordinate parties. The unequal relationship between Athens and its allies, she maintains, mirrors that of supplicandus and suppliant, just as the conditions imposed by

174 On the Andromache and the Athenian male’s anxieties surrounding the institution of marriage, exogamy specifically, see Hausdoerffer 2005. Mendelsohn also mentions the Andromache in a passing reference to the disruptions that can arise from a bride’s excessive loyalty to her birth family at the expense of the family of her new husband (2002: 147). See Seaford 1990 for a fuller treatment of the problems with marriage in the Euripidean corpus. On the role played by concubines in tragedy, see Foley 2001: 87-105, and more specifically on connection between the Andromache and Attic realities concerning marriage and dowry, see pp. 97-103. On bastardy, legitimacy, and Pericles’ citizenship law of 451 BCE, see Allan 2000: 161-195, Belfiore 2000: 88-90, Ogden 1996: 196-197.

Athens upon the acceptance of these suppliants parallel the obligations enjoined upon its allies, thereby rendering supplication a fruitful theme by which to examine Athens’ relations with its subject-allies.

Tzanetou seeks to illuminate the ideological purpose served by the suppliant plays by situating them in their historical context. As she explains, when viewed in the context of the development of Athenian imperialism, the Athenian suppliant plays serve as “a platform for articulating a series of political and ideological arguments that affirmed

Athens’ leadership”.175 To this end, she proposes that, broadly speaking, the presentation of Athens in traditional suppliant dramas worked in two ways. First, the positive depiction of Athenian leadership distanced it from the ‘unpalatable realities’ of imperial rule, representing its subjugated allies in the guise of grateful and consenting suppliants, and second, the portrayal of Athens as a benefactor and protector helped to endorse and legitimize it as leader amongst Greek poleis by garnering support for and recognition of its rule.

According to this approach, Euripides’ Heracleidae, for example, responds to criticism from the Spartans, who accused Athens of tyrannical treatment of her allies. The play, by appointing Athens as a ‘free city’, who goes to war in order to defend the wronged as much as her own sovereignty, suggests that the freedom and autonomy of the empire served as a precondition for the protection that Athens could offer to others.176

The characterization of Athens in the play centers on emphasizing her distinctiveness

175 Tzanetou 2012: 17. 176 Athens initially took on the role of hegemon during the Persian War in response to the appeals of various Greek city-states who felt threatened and feared for their autonomy. As their hegemony turned into empire, Athenians continued to use the pretext of the preservation of freedom, both their own (Thuc. 2.63.1-2) and that of their allies (Thuc. 1.73.4-75.1), to justify their rule. Cf. Tzanetou 2012: 78-80. On the concepts of Greek freedom and sovereignty see Raaflaub 2004, esp. ch. 5.

from other Greek city-states, much of which is portrayed as being rooted in her liberty and democracy. Iolaus differentiates Athens from the other cities to which they fled, who were either unwilling or unable to protect the children of Heracles from Argos (31-39,

191-202), explaining that it is the only city with the ability to defend them on account of its freedom (62). Athens is portrayed as an exceptional city, which not only respects the universal laws and customs of Greece, but which also has the unique capabilities to defend them (101-104, 107-108, 236-249). Its involvement in the plight of the children of

Heracles is therefore represented in positive terms, as a necessary act in order to preserve justice to the advantage of all Greeks. Athens is thus transformed in suppliant drama from imperial ruler into benevolent protector and the aspects of its leadership with which her allies found fault are revealed to be the very things that allow her to defend them from harm.

Athens’ allies undergo a similar transformation as well. As Tzanetou summarizes,

“the trust Iolaus places in the city’s freedom translates in positive terms the relationship between Athens and her allies, representing the suppliants in the guise of eager, well- wishing allies”.177 The Heracleidae converts the negative aspects of the unequal relationship between Athens as ruler of an empire and her allies as subjects of that empire. The allies are portrayed as willing participants in Athens’ rule. For instance, when the oracles demand that a virgin be sacrificed to Persephone in order to guarantee victory to the Athenians in battle against the Argives, the daughter of Heracles volunteers

(404-424, 500-534). The inclusion of self-sacrifice in the story is original to Euripides and is interpreted by Tzanetou as reflecting the military assistance that Athens demanded

177 Tzanetou 2012: 78.

of her allies during the war. Yet since Heracles’ daughter voluntarily offers herself as sacrificial victim, the assistance contributed by the relatives of Heracles is presented not as a compulsory tribute, but as a sign of loyalty and gratitude for the proffered shelter.

Athens’ relationship with the Heracleidae in this way echoes the historical partnership between Athens and her allies. The association between supplicandus and suppliant is at its core unbalanced, thereby reflecting the unequal power possessed by ruler and ruled. Nevertheless, on the dramatic stage this relationship is also depicted as being voluntary and reciprocal. Athens extends protection to the children of Heracles. In response, the suppliants, recognizing both her generosity and superiority, make their own significant contribution in order to secure their safety, which, in turn, strengthens Athens’ own hegemonic ambitions. The relationship is shown to be beneficial to all parties involved.

In all traditional suppliant plays, Tzanetou notes this kind of ‘urgent situation’ or obstacle, which immediately follows the suppliant’s plea. It could arise for any number of reasons, but usually involved the risk of war or pollution if the suppliants’ request be granted, and, as a result, throws their acceptance into jeopardy. The process by which this complication is handled and subsequently resolved is critical to Tzanetou’s interpretation, as it provides the foundation for the negotiation of consent between the suppliant and supplicandus, subordinate and dominant groups. Although Athens endeavours to represent herself as a benevolent hegemon, the conflicts that arise between Athens and the suppliants in the plays reveal the realities of Athenian rule and the obligations enforced on her allies. Athens ultimately agrees each time to assist the suppliants, but only after they have offered benefits in exchange for her protection.

In this way, the Athenian suppliant plays participate in the struggle over competing voices and ideologies. The ambiguities between hegemony and domination, ideology and reality are reflected on the dramatic stage in the patterns of exchanges germane to supplication ritual. Tzanetou’s construal of the relationship between supplicandus and suppliant enables her to observe the negotiation of consent in the interactions of a dominant and subordinate group on stage before an audience of

Athenians and foreigners. On the surface, suppliant drama presents Athenian rule in positive terms. Yet she demonstrates that, through careful analysis, it is discernable that the tragedies engage with conflicting points of view by expressing, to some extent, the perspective of the oppressed. The idealized image of Athenian rule is ultimately revealed as flawed and the tragedies communicate the difficulties in balancing empire and democracy (a point to which we will return in the final two chapters of this study).

2.3: The Andromache and ‘The Pattern of Suppliant Drama’178

Although not formally considered a suppliant drama in the manner of Suppliant

Women or Heracleidae, the Andromache nevertheless also exhibits a number of components of the traditional suppliant plot.179 It has been suggested that suppliant plays, in general, conform to a set pattern of exchanges. Burian describes a total of six characteristics, as follows: an initial scene of supplication, a confrontation between suppliant and king (involving entreaty and acceptance), an altercation between suppliant

178 Burian 1971: ch. 1; Mercier 1990: 37-40. 179 Mercier 1990. The Andromache has also been identified as a nostos (return home) play given its adherence to the pattern of the absence and subsequent homecoming of the hero/head of the household. Lloyd (2005: 3) observes that the Andromache presents “a variation on this well-established type of tragic structure, although the outlines of the nostos play are less clear than in [other nostoi dramas],” just as I suggest it may also be viewed as a suppliant tragedy despite not replicating the suppliant pattern exactly. See also Taplin 1977: 124; Hall 1997: 107; Stavrinou 2014: 389-390.

and enemy herald, a confrontation of herald and king (usually in the form of an agon, resulting in the threat of war), a battle, and lastly, a celebration of victory and the suppliant’s expression of gratitude.180

The Andromache arguably includes variations on five of these six criteria. The tragedy opens with Andromache in suppliant position at the altar of Thetis where she relates her plight. This is followed by a series of confrontations between Andromache and her pursuers, Hermione, and Menelaus. The Spartan characters here take on the customary role of enemy herald. Right at the moment of Andromache’s destruction the

Phthian king Peleus arrives in response to the threats of the pursuers. Andromache supplicates him directly and he accepts, raising her from her suppliant position. Pursuer and saviour launch into an agonistic dispute regarding who has the proper authority over

Andromache. The threat of violence is retained, although the outbreak of battle is only hinted at, and does not come to fruition.181 In the final scene, the goddess Thetis appears, deus ex machina, and resolves the action of the play in favour of Andromache and her protector.

In the Andromache, however, the “coordinates of the shared pattern”, to borrow

Tzanetou’s phrase, vary considerably.182 A dichotomy is set up, as in traditional suppliant drama, between the pursuer and the rescuer of the suppliant victim. An Athenian representative is typically depicted as the protector, but the Thessalian king Peleus fulfills

180 Burian 1971: 26-29. He acknowledges the changeability of the components and goes on to demonstrate just how his criteria may be adapted to the needs of each suppliant drama by listing the six elements as they are manifested in Aeschylus’ Hiketeia, Euripides’ Heracleidae and Suppliant Women and Sophocles’ Oedipus at Colonus. See also Kopperschmidt 1967: 46-53 for an earlier account of suppliant drama patterns. 181 In the place of the battle scene as narrated by a messenger we have the description of the murder of Neoptolemus at Apollo’s oracle in Delphi. 182 Tzanetou 2012: 129.

this role in the Andromache. And where we would expect to be confronted with the conventional obstacle following Andromache’s supplication of her protector, we find instead that the pattern is reversed. Unlike traditional suppliant drama, Andromache’s act of supplication is not interrupted by the arrival of a hostile pursuer; instead, it is the savior, Peleus, who interrupts the action and accepts Andromache’s request at once and without question. There is no need for a scene, then, where suppliant and supplicandus negotiate the terms of their arrangement nor does the play present the interplay of the competing voices of dominant and dominated – at least not in the same way as Tzanetou identifies in traditional suppliant drama.

At the core of Tzanetou’s analysis is the belief that hegemony offers a ‘unifying interpretative framework’ for Athenian suppliant drama and it is this approach, broadly speaking, that is applied in this study to the Andromache. Yet during the course of my research, it became apparent that the competing voice which the Andromache primarily engages with was not that of Athens’ subordinate allies but rather its rival for supremacy,

Sparta. As Tzanetou explains:

The manifestations of Athenian hegemonic ideology are the outcome of a dynamic and open-ended process, conditioned by both external and internal forces. Athenian ideals are defined against the changing historical circumstances of the empire and against other ideologies, which the players counter, rival, or attempt to align with the message of Athens’ moral hegemony.183

Accordingly, where her work explores the manifestation of Athenian hegemonic ideology and the relationship between Athens and its subject-allies by means of the theme of supplication, the Andromache, I suggest, engages with the same hegemonic ideology, but

183 ibid., 130.

instead by means of the theme of marriage, exemplified by Menelaus and Peleus, two kings joined through a marital alliance.

The theme of marriage provides grounds for viewing the affiliation between the household of Menelaus and that of Peleus as a political alliance between city-states, an interpretation which is further strengthened by the historical relationship(s) between

Athens, Sparta, and Phthia. Thucydides tells us that in 462 BCE Thessaly made an alliance with Athens and it is probable that they assisted the Athenians at Oinophyta, although Larsen describes Thessaly as “not too reliable an ally”, given the desertion of the Thessalian cavalry at the battle of Tanagra, and its intervention in Athens’ attempt to restore Orestes, son of Echecratides, to the throne.184 Nevertheless, it was this same alliance that was invoked in 431 when the Thessalian cavalry provided support to

Athens’ force at the outbreak of the Peloponnesian War (1.102.4, 2.22.3). The initial arrangement came shortly after the Lacedaemonians had dismissed Athenian aid, alone of all their allies, that had been sent to assist with the Helot uprisings in Sparta. The

Athenians, Thucydides explains, took great offence to these actions, which prompted them to withdraw their membership from the Hellenic League, that is, to end the alliance between them, choosing instead to ally themselves with Sparta’s enemy, Argos, and with

Thessaly as well (1.102.1-4). This alliance is significant, as Thessaly was inherently linked to Sparta on account of its Dorian language and Heraclid ancestry. Spartan attempts to gain control of the region, in fact, dated as far back as the late sixth century, but had been without success. Nor did contention over Thessalian support end with the

184 Larsen 1968: 125. On the battle of Oinophyta, see SEG xvii. 243 as well as Daux 1958. On the battle of Tanagra, see Thuc. 1.108.7 and on the attempted restoration of Orestes, see Thuc. 1.111.1.

outbreak of the war, but rather both Sparta and Athens continued their efforts “to gain, or to maintain, the support of as many of the powerful Thessalian city-states as possible”.185

Bauslaugh has suggested that Thessaly, in fact, may have considered itself as neutral during the Peloponnesian War, or, that, at the minimum, it was not formally allied with either Sparta or Athens for the greater part of the war, after having provided assistance to Athens in 431 BCE.186 As support for his assertion, Bauslaugh makes reference to a section of Thucydides. In 424 BCE, Brasidas attempted to pass through

Thessaly on his way to Thrace with his troops. Thucydides explains that (4.78.2-3):

τὴν γὰρ Θεσσαλίαν ἄλλως τε ούκ εὔπορον ἦν διιέναι ἄνευ ἀγωγοῦ καὶ μετὰ ὅπλων γε δή, καὶ τοῖς πᾶσί γε ὁμοίως Ἕλλησιν ὕποπτον καθειστήκει τὴν τῶν πέλας μὴ πείσαντας διιέιναι· τοῖς τε Ἀθηναίοις αίεί ποτε τὸ πλῆθος τῶν Θεσσαλῶν εὔνουν ὑπῆρχεν. ὥστε εἰ μὴ δυναστείᾳ μᾶλλον ἢ ίσονομίᾳ ἐρχῶντο τὸ ἐγχώριον οἱ Θεσσαλοί, οὐκ ἄν ποτε προῆλθεν.

For in general it was not easy to pass through Thessaly without an escort, and of course among all the Hellenes alike suspicion definitely existed concerning an armed force crossing a neighbor’s territory without permission. Besides, the majority of Thessalians felt long-standing good will toward the Athenians; if the Thessalians had been ruled not by a narrow oligarchy of their traditional sort but by constitutional government, Brasidas would never have been able to proceed.

Bauslaugh questions why Thucydides would be so vague about an alliance here and in other discussions of Athenian and Lacedaemonian campaigns in the northwest, going so far as to say that, if Athens and Thessaly really were allies, Thucydides “certainly has gone out of his way to obfuscate that fact”.187

185 Allan 2000: 155-156. 186 Bauslaugh 1991: 121-124. Contra HCT 3.541; Larsen 1968: 141-143; Allan 2000: 156. 187 Bauslaugh 1991: 122. Hornblower, although he makes note of Bauslaugh’s stance, does not speculate on a possible alliance between Athens and Thessaly in reference to Thuc. 4.78. Rather he questions whether to draw conclusions of Thessalian hostility toward the Spartans does not sufficiently account for the complexity of the situation in which Brasidas would have found himself. Hornblower nevertheless does remark that Athens not only was said to be popular amongst the common people of Thessaly, but also had connections with members of the Thessalian upper classes (CT 2.256-262, see also 1.284)

Larsen, on the other hand, who believes the Thessalians and Athenians were allies at this time, acknowledges that it is surprising that the Thessalians would have permitted

Brasidas to pass through their territory on his way to Thrace; however, he attributes this decision, in part, to the prominence of the pro-Spartan faction in Thessaly.188 He reminds us that Brasidas had sent word from Heraclea to his friends in Pharsalus asking them to conduct himself and his troops through the country.189 Indeed, even though the

Thessalian Confederacy was allied to Athens and the majority of Thessalians were friends of the Athenians, many of those individuals who occupied positions of power throughout Thessaly favoured Sparta.190

Whether or not Thessaly really was allied to Athens during the war does not diminish our argument. On the contrary, if Bauslaugh’s proposition were true, Thessaly’s neutrality could have served as further incentive for both power blocs to attempt to gain its support and favour, given its strategic position in Greece. Besides, if Athens was already joined in alliance with Thessaly, the description Thucydides provides of

Brasidas’ campaign offers ample proof that there were enough pro-Sparta advocates in the region at the time to justify the need for continuous efforts to secure and/or reaffirm

Thessalian support for Athens. Either way, the Andromache alludes to a picture of what could lie in store for the Thessalians were they to form an alliance with Sparta.

It will be my contention throughout the remaining chapters of this dissertation that the Andromache, despite its lack of any direct allusion to Athens, advances an ideological

188 Larsen 1968: 141. 189 Thuc. 4.78.1: προπέμψαντος αὐτοῦ ἄγγελον ἐς Φάρσαλον παρὰ τοὺς ἐπιτηδείους. Hornblower observes the frequency with which Thucydides applies the word ἐπιτήδειος to describe political friendships (CT 2.257-258). 190 Larsen 1968: 142. Cf. Thuc. 4.78.

message similar to that which Tzanetou identifies in traditional Athenian suppliant drama. In contrast to the plays that she examines, in which consent is achieved through a negotiation of power between Athens and its subject-allies, I argue that it is more fruitful to approach the Andromache from the perspective of Gramsci’s notion of counterhegemony, or the opposing voice, as will be developed more fully in the following chapter. While the play works to achieve the same ideological goals as those identified by Tzanetou in traditional Athenian suppliant drama, it predominantly addresses these issues by working to undermine the competition, so to speak, rather than by explicitly promoting Athens’ own interests. The Spartans, as Athens’ primary rival for supremacy during the Peloponnesian War, served as the logical target for this strategic denigration.

2.4: Marriage as Political Alliance

Discussions of the Andromache in the past have tended to follow one of two lines of analysis, either rejecting any political interpretation or giving too much emphasis to its political content. Valk, for instance, claims that the tragedy ought “in no way to be considered as a political play”.191 Erbse is dismissive of possible contemporaneous allusions to the Spartans and views the focus of the play as primarily about Andromache.

In contrast, there are those who have been criticized for attributing too great a political focus to the tragedy at the expense of theatrical elements, such as character development and plot. Robertson, for example, notes the importance of the Molossian content of the play, connecting Thetis’ prophecy to the alliance formed between Athens and the

Molossian king Tharpys during the 420s. His analysis, however, disregards earlier scenes

191 Valk 1985: 73.

between Andromache and Hermione. Kitto, similarly, understands an attack on Sparta to be the uniting idea of the play, maintaining that the Andromache is “not incidentally, but fundamentally, a violent attack on the Spartan mind, on Machtpolitik”.192 Yet he goes much too far when stating that, in the case of the Andromache, “[n]owhere is it more evident that the unity of the play lies in its idea and not in its story”.193

Such polarizing analyses of the tragedy tend to place too great an emphasis on a single aspect of a what is in actuality a complex and interesting play at the expense of other features. In the conclusion of his monograph on the Andromache, Allan rightly notes that, “scholars have tended to concentrate on one element, and so to obscure the originality and the effect of the larger design”.194 More recent analyses, therefore, have attempted to call positive attention to the play by focusing less on the need for a single, unifying theme and more on the plurality – and complexity – of action which the tragedy presents.195 Building on these approaches, an interpretation of the Andromache that derives much of its political significance in the personal relationships between characters, which are integral to the drama, may help to strike a balance between these two tendencies.

Many scholars have previously noted the ubiquity of familial themes in the

Andromache, some of whom even view kinship ties as being the central subject of the tragedy. The movement of the whole play, Kovacs maintains, is related to “the themes of

192 Kitto 1961: 230. 193 ibid., 230. 194 Allan 2000: 267. 195 ibid., 268, “The play has no unifying theme: it presents a variety of issues.” See for example: Lee 1975; Storey 1989; Phillippo 1995; Mossman 1996; Kyriakou 1997.

children and heirs, heredity and training”.196 In her chapter “Marriage in Ancient

Greece”, Craik notably selects the Andromache for analysis in order to make clearer the many distinctions of the terminology associated with marriage.197 Allan observes an exploration of the changing meanings of evaluative terms in the plays of Euripides and, in particular, the appropriation of the rhetoric of philia by characters in the Andromache

(most notably, Menelaus) for their own self-interest.198 Kyriakou’s analysis examines how the characters’ relationships to their families, and most especially their marital unions, contribute to the plot. She argues that the characters’ inability to process their family relationships and the position of these relationships in the family’s dynamics hinders them from dealing with the past and compels them to repeat history.199 Phillippo discusses the significance of patronymics in the tragedy and their connection with the theme of family relationships. In her view, the entire dispute between Menelaus and

Peleus is “a dramatic embodiment of the disruption of the operation of one house by ties contracted with another”.200 Menelaus believes that he is entitled to interfere in

Neoptolemus’ oikos because of the customary procedures of philoi relations that existed between them, the implications of which will be discussed in greater detail below.

196 Kovacs 1980: 13. 197 Craik 1984: 22-26. Of particular interest to our present purposes is Craik’s inclusion of the terms philia/philos in her examination. 198 Allan 2000: 124. By ‘evaluative terms’ I mean terms that express approval or disapproval on an either moral or non-moral level. This treatment of philia is demonstrative of an instrumental sense of philia that Schein argues develops in the third quarter of the fifth century (see below). Allan suggests that the explorations found in Euripidean tragedy parallel the questioning of evaluative terms in Thucydides’ Peloponnesian War, an examination that is arguably most prominent in his account of the civil war in Corcyra (3.82f). Neils Boulter (1966), in her analysis of the terms sophia and sophrosyne in the Andromache, similarly asserts that the prevailing interest of the tragedy is the great changes in moral values that we know from Thucydides’ account occurred during the period of the Peloponnesian War. See also Arrowsmith 1963, esp. 33-44. 199 Kyriakou 1997. 200 Phillippo 1995: 361.

At the opening of the play we learn that Andromache is now a slave in the household of Neoptolemus and serves as his concubine. This relationship, however, is problematic due to the fact that Neoptolemus’ father, Achilles, killed Andromache’s first husband, Hector, during the Trojan War, and that Paris, the brother-in-law of

Andromache, in turn, slew Achilles (8-25).201 Furthermore, the relationship between

Neoptolemus and Andromache infuriates Neoptolemus’ legitimate wife, Hermione, who herself had originally been promised in marriage by her father, Menelaus, to her Argive cousin, Orestes (29-40, 155-157). Orestes seeks to reclaim his cousin, explaining that he is unable to marry outside of his kin because he killed his mother, Clytemnestra, as revenge for her murder of his father Agamemnon, brother of Menelaus (957-986).

Moreover, the Trojan War was only undertaken in the first place because Menelaus’ wife and Hermione’s mother, Helen, had once left Sparta to elope with her Trojan lover, Paris

(602-618). Lastly, the action of the play is neatly resolved by means of new marriage ties, by Peleus’ divine wife, Thetis, in the guise of deus ex machina (1231-1272).202

It is therefore irrefutable that the Andromache is in many ways a play about marriage ties; marriage links together all the characters of the drama and is responsible for the complicated relationships that exist between them. These complex associations are what make the twists and turns of the plot of the Andromache so fascinating, since every action of the play has multiple layers of meaning for each character based on his or her

201 See Belfiore 2000: 81-100, esp. 82-85, for an examination of the Andromache and the impact of the authenes relationship on many of the connections between characters. Belfiore applies this discussion in support of her reading of Neoptolemus, and less immediately his kin, as the villain(s) of the piece because his marriage to Andromache causes him to treat his enemies as friends and vice versa. While I do not agree with her interpretation, her analysis nevertheless raises many important points on the themes of philia and of harming philoi in the tragedy. See below, in Chapter 4.5, for my own interpretation of Neoptolemus’ characterization contra Belfiore. 202 Cf. Dunn 1996: 26-44 for discussion of Euripides use of the deus ex machina convention.

past and present connections. The prominence of the theme of marriage draws attention to the importance of alliances and, in particular, demonstrates with whom one ought – and ought not – to make an alliance by depicting the consequences of associations with supposed ‘good’ and ‘bad’ people.203 In the Andromache, these roles happen to be assumed by the Athenians’ historical allies, the Thessalians, and their enemies, the

Spartans, respectively.

It is a truism in Athenian tragedy that the oikos can be interpreted as a microcosm of the polis. This homology, I suggest, when viewed in connection with the political undertones of marriage may be expanded to include interstate relationships. The oikos and its related imagery is arguably one of the most important symbolic markers of political power in Athens.204 “Politics”, Strauss points out, regularly takes on “the symbols and languages of the family to express notions of political authority”.205 He goes on to observe that, “the polis frequently appropriated the language of kinship as a legitimizing tool: for example, in the notion of Athenian autochthony or descent from a mythical national hero or of the bonds between members of one of democratic Athens’ ten tribes”.206 To this effect, it should be of no surprise that to the Athenian mind the success or failure of the household was frequently associated with that of the city.207

“[T]he continued existence of the household”, Karamanou explains, “was considered

203 Conacher 1970: 166-180, esp. 170. Cf. Kovacs 1995: 270: “The characters may be divided into sympathetic (the Trojan Andromache, the Thessalians Peleus and Neoptolemus) and unsympathetic (the Spartan Hermione and her father Menelaus, and the Argive Orestes). 204 See Strauss 1993: 33-41. 205 ibid., 10. 206 ibid., 11. 207 Aristophanes, in his comedy the Knights, casts Demos in the role of master of the house. The political leaders Nicias, Demosthenes and Cleon are all slaves of Demos. In this scenario, the city of Athens is re- imagined as an oikos over which Demos rules tyrannically. Raaflaub further suggests that the perspective of Demos’ rule, once praised as tyrant, broadens to include empire (2003: 82).

essential to the stability of the city-state and the fate of the oikos in fifth-century Athens was intrinsically interwoven with the fate of the polis”. 208 For these reasons, it is possible to interpret Euripides’ dramatization of crises within the oikos as having direct relevance to the socio-political situation of fifth-century Athens.

The link between household and city, or perhaps more accurately, private and public, may be perceived in the very terminology commonly used to describe those with whom one has some type of social relationship. The difficulty in interpreting a precise definition for philos, whose meaning can range from friend and beloved, to kin and ally, may be understood by its connection with the complex Greek institution of philia,

‘friendship’.209 Aristotle does not provide a definition for philia in his works, but he does offer a discussion about its role in Greek society. There is some debate amongst scholars regarding how inclusive Aristotle’s notion of philia really was. In his Eudemian Ethics there are multiple variations of philia (Eth. Eud. 1242a): friendship based on kinship

(συγγενικὴ), friendship between comrades (αὕτη ἑταιρικῆς), partnerships (κοινωνικὴ) and political friendship (πολιτικὴ). According to this definition, in addition to the relationships between close blood kin, philia may also have included the bonds shared between more distant relations, such as suppliants, xenoi, and spouses (Eth. Nic. 9.4).210 I

208 Karamanou 2011: 249-250. 209 Benveniste 1969: 273-288. It is of interest that Craik (1984: 24) perceives an emphasis on the use of philos in the Andromache to describe the family, “where obligation and not affection is the constant element” (cf. 87, 802, 816, 818-819). Pártay considers the polysemy of the term in reference to its usage in the Andromache specifically, concluding that Euripides purposefully manipulates his application of its different meanings to expose tensions in the conflicting concepts of philia in fifth-century Athens (2019: 145-158). 210 Belfiore 2000: 5-6. David Konstan (1997) offers a thorough analysis of friendship in classical antiquity. See ch. 2 on its relevance in the classical polis. With regards to Aristotle’s treatment of the various forms of philia in particular, see pp. 67-72.

follow Belfiore in viewing philia relationships as consisting of not only blood kinship, but also the reciprocal relationships of suppliancy, xenia, and marriage.211

Continuing Benveniste’s analysis of the language of kinship and social status and their relationship to the major institutions of the Greek world, Schein has demonstrated that the term philia does not occur with regularity in extant Greek literature until the second half of the fifth century.212 At its root, philia is associated both with the vocabulary of trust and of reciprocity. Yet the attainment of economic and social advantages, one of the main objectives of philia, appears to have contributed to its initial use in specifically political contexts with regard to friendships and alliances strategically initiated or maintained for one’s own advantage. Schein concludes that, “a fundamentally instrumental notion, which had been part of a more general, traditional conception of reciprocal solidarity, became the primary sense of the word”.213 It should also be noted that Schein observes two major developments around this time in the value of the term.

The first, as we have just seen, involves philia assuming a more politicized meaning.

Somewhat surprisingly, the second sees the word used in a much more reflexive and personal manner to describe inner feelings and individual relationships. Thus, we may observe a paradoxical duality in the terms philos and philia, whereby each may be used to describe a personal and intimate relationship (for instance, marriage), or an association

211 ibid., 6: “This broadening concept of philia makes sense, because marriage, xenia, and suppliancy are all formal relationships involving reciprocal rights and obligations and are in many ways similar to blood kinship”. 212 Our earlier literary sources instead use the word philotes. Unlike philia, which Schein argues has a more specific value in later fifth-century Greece, philotes was employed to denote many different kinds of reciprocal relationships, or “friendships” (1990: 58-59). Konstan, however, does point out that at least in the sixth century, philia was one of the common ways of referring to an alliance between Greek city-states (1997: 83). 213 Schein 1990: 59.

with political and public connotations (such as a political alliance). Both interpretations are inherently linked.

Marriage, as a form of philia, is also both personal and political and as such was used to bring others into one’s own kinship group.214 Such relationships were forged, on the one hand, “by the religious bonds of shared family cults” and, on the other hand, “by the morally sanctioned bonds of social and economic cooperation”.215 Nor was it unusual in classical Greece to manipulate ties of kinship in order to secure good relations even between city-states and to use the associations that arose from kinship bonds to form alliances, procure assistance in war, or even provide excuses for interventionist policies.216 Marriage certainly could be, and was historically, employed as a mode of political manipulation. The union of two households could be used, for example, to solidify an alliance both within and outside of one’s own polis, as in the case of the nuptials of Peisistratos to the daughter of Megacles (Hdt. 1.60), or Agariste, daughter of the tyrant of Sicyon, who was married to the Athenian Megacles (Hdt. 6.126-130). In contemporary politics, the polis, as a legal entity, often took on for itself models for relationships that we might consider inappropriate for inter-state relations, and more suitable to personal activities.217 Thus if the polis could employ models apposite to private associations, it stands to reason that one might interpret some personal relationships in terms of political or public significance.

214 Cf. Isae. 2 [Menekles] 3-5. 215 Just 1989: 82. 216 Mitchell 1997: 23-24. 217 ibid., 40. Strauss also calls attention to the ways that the city uses the family as a “model and idiom” (1993: 37).

Perhaps most significantly, it is not only contemporary Athenian attitudes to the oikos/polis relationship that encourage us to view the imagery of marriage and the household throughout the Andromache in political terms, but the content of the play itself. Conacher finds the broader implications of the play in the duality of the action, the personal and dynastic. As he sees it, “behind the personal spites, antipathies and congenialities of individuals lie the larger and (politically at any rate) more significant affinities and antipathies of nations”.218 For Foley, “justice in house and city are repeatedly and explicitly linked” in the tragedy, and indeed, this association is made clear from the very opening.219 The prologue introduces the theme of marriage to the audience and establishes its significance to the drama as a whole. Andromache sets the scene, describing her position at the altar of Thetis, and she explains how she has come as suppliant in search of asylum from the threats of Hermione and her father and accomplice, Menelaus. The first forty-five lines of her speech contain over ten words or phrases relating to marriage, and several more describing the household.220 Scholars have remarked upon the uncommon concentration of marital and domestic terminology, and it is evident that Euripides wanted to signal to his audience the importance of this theme from the very opening of the drama.221

The second stasimon of the tragedy explores the consequences of individuals competing for authority in the areas of marriage, statesmanship, poetry, and navigation.

218 Conacher 1970: 173. 219 Foley 2001: 102. 220 ἕδνων (2), δάμαρ δοθεῖσα παιδοποιὸς (4), πόσιν (8), πόσει (9), ξυνῴκει (18), νυμφευμάτων (20), πλαθεῖσ᾽ (25), γαμεῖ (29), λέχος (30), πόσει (33), λέκτρα (35), ἐκοινώθην λέχει (38), γάμων (46). 221 Allan observes the unusual density of vocabulary pertaining either to marriage or to its disruption in the first twenty lines of the prologue (2000: 172-3). Ian Storey, although his analysis differs slightly from my own, as it focuses on the disruption of the oikos, notes that there are more instances of the term oikos in the Andromache than in any other extant play, and draws attention to the significance of domestic terminology for the tragedy (1989: 17). See also Vester 2009: 295-296.

After Menelaus has successfully tricked Andromache into abandoning her suppliant position at the altar of Thetis, the chorus performs the second stasimon (465-493):

οὐδέποτε δίδυμα λέκτρ’ ἐπαινέσω βροτῶν οὐδ’ ἀμφιμάτορας κόρους, ἔριν μελάθρων δυσμενεῖς τε λύπας· μίαν μοι στεργέτω πόσις γάμοις ἀκοινώνητον ἁμὸς εὐνάν.

οὐδέ γ’ ἄρα πόλεσι δίπτυχοι τυραννίδες μιᾶς ἀμείνονες φέρειν, ἄχθος τ’ ἐπ’ ἄχθει καὶ στάσιν πολίταις· τεκόντοιν θ’ ὕμνον ἐργάταιν δυοῖν ἔριν Μοῦσαι φιλοῦσι κραίνειν.

πνοαὶ δ’ ὅταν φέρωσι ναυτίλους θοαί, κατὰ πηδαλίων διδύμα πραπίδων γνώμα σοφῶν τε πλῆθος ἀθρόον ἀσθενέστερον φαυλοτέρας φρενὸς αὐτοκρατοῦς. ἑνὸς ἄρ’ ἄνυσις ἀνά τε μέλαθρα κατά τε πόλιας, ὁπόταν εὑ- ρεῖν θέλωσι καιρόν.

ἔδειξεν ἁ Λάκαινα τοῦ στρατηλάτα Μενέλεα· διὰ γὰρ πυρὸς ἦλθ’ ἑτέρῳ λέχει, κτείνει δὲ τὰν τάλαιναν Ἰλιάδα κόραν παῖδά τε δύσφρονος ἀμφ’ ἔριδος. ἄθεος ἄνομος ἄχαρις ὁ φόνος· ἔτι σε, πότνια, μετατροπὰ τῶνδ’ ἔπεισιν ἔργων.

I will never praise double marriage-beds among mortals or sons by different mothers. It is strife and hateful pain for a house. Let my husband be satisfied in marriage with a single bed, unshared!

Neither in cities are a pair of rulers better to bear than one, the result is grief upon grief and stasis for citizens. And when two poets produce a song, the Muses are fond of bringing about strife.

When swift breezes carry sailors along, twofold judgement of minds at the helm

and a multitude of experts crowded together is weaker than an inferior mind with absolute power. Accomplishment of affairs both in the home and in the city belongs to a single person, whenever people wish to find their advantage.

The Spartan woman, daughter of the commander, Menelaus proved this. For she was inflamed against her rival and is putting to death the wretched Trojan girl and her son because of senseless strife. Godless, lawless, thankless is this murder. Retribution, mistress, still yet will come upon you for these deeds!

The opening stanza has obvious dramatic relevance to the preceding episode between

Hermione and Andromache. The subsequent stanzas give additional examples of dangerous rivalries in other analogous contexts, which culminate in the sententious statement that success in public and private life depends on the uncontested authority of a single individual.222 The comment applies not only to Hermione’s excessive independence but also Menelaus’ interference in the affairs of Neoptolemus, which he does at both a state and family level.223 The divided guardianship shared by Menelaus and Peleus (in Neoptolemus’ absence) over Hermione reveals the destructive effects of joint authority.224 The analogy between political and domestic conduct is developed further still by the chorus in the third stasimon when they praise a way of life that holds

‘no power that goes beyond justice in the home and in the city’ (μηδὲν δίκας ἔξω κράτος

ἐν θαλάμοις καὶ πόλει δύνασθαι, 786-787). Reflecting on these lines, Lloyd observes the frequency of such an antithesis of home and city and special significance of its

222 The development of the ode takes the form of a ‘paratactic comparison’, that is a general statement demonstrated and then corroborated by one or more corresponding or contrasting observations from other fields. For discussion of this technique see Johansen 1959. 223 Cf. Allan 2000: 214. 224 Cf. Foley 2001: 100.

application in a play wherein “patterns of behavior in a domestic context reflect those at the political level”.225

It should be noted that the prologue also contains a prevalence of terms concerning location and nationality.226 While this in itself is not unusual, as its primary function is to establish the important characters and locations for the drama, there seems to be a particular emphasis on Thessaly with four direct references within the span of seven lines.227 Sparta, too, is mentioned twice at key moments; once, when the character of Hermione is introduced, and next, one line after Menelaus is first named.228 Although it is not unusual in Greek drama for characters to be named along with a geographical modifier, the audience undoubtedly was already aware of the nationality of Menelaus and his daughter; the inclusion of such topographical reminders purposefully emphasizes their

Spartan heritage. Euripides’ use of the word Λάκαινα to describe Hermione (30) is significant as well.229 The term has potential hostile or uncomplimentary connotations, as the adjectival ending -αινα is used to denote female animals, and the word λάκαινα is often applied to hunting dogs.230 Euripides establishes through such geographical references the significance of the nationality of the characters. Thus, from the outset of the drama, Euripides indicates two important themes to his audience: familial/marital

225 Lloyd 2005: 152. 226 Vester 2009: 295-298. 227 Φθίας, Φαρσαλίας, Θεσσαλὸς, Φαρσαλίας (16-22). 228 Stevens, too, in his commentary on Hermione’s initial entrance (147-180, esp. 151) remarks that, “[Euripides] keeps reminding us of the Spartan nationality of Hermione and Menelaus” (1971: 115). See also Hesk, who draws attention to these same lines, observing that the Spartans’ geographical origin appears to be constitutive of their identity, an identity “which will be developed to embrace some damningly negative characteristics” (2000: 68). 229 Both Andromache and the Thessalian chorus refer to Hermione with this adjective, in contrast with Orestes’ address to her as Σπαρτιᾶτις (889). See Craik 1979 for discussion of Euripides’ employment of Λάκαινα versus Σπαρτιᾶτις (62-63). It should, however, be noted that in Hermione’s opening lines she herself describes her homeland as Λακαίνη Σπαρτιᾶτις (151). 230 Examples include δράκαινα, ὕαινα, κάπραινα, and λέαινα (cf. Craik 1979: 62 n. 5, 63).

relationships and nationality. It is this very intersection between the thematic elements of marriage and nationality that solidifies an interpretation of marriage as political alliance.

“In Andromache”, Foley observes, “character, heritage, nationality, and past actions are pointedly viewed as central determinants to the success or failure of a marriage. This emphasis allows the poet to use marriage to comment on a larger set of political and social issues.”231

It has already been discussed briefly how the institution of marriage plays a role in the development of most aspects of the Andromache’s plot. For Peleus and his family members, in particular, their affiliation with Sparta has significant consequences. To this point, Hartung saw the message of the play as lying in the misfortunes of the house of

Peleus because of its association in both war and marriage with the house of Menelaus.232

It was Achilles’ involvement in the Trojan War, initiated by Menelaus, that led to his death. Peleus himself points this out (611-18) and the circumstances of Achilles’ death would have been well-known to the audience. But more immediately, it is Neoptolemus’ marriage to Hermione that Peleus explicitly names as the cause of destruction of his entire house. After learning of the murder of his grandson, Peleus laments the institution of marriage. He bewails the marriage, which he had previously warned Neoptolemus not make (1186-1191):233

ὦ γάμος, ὦ γάμος, ὃς τάδε δώματα καὶ πόλιν ὤλεσας ὤλεσας ἁμάν. αἰαῖ, ἒ ἒ, ῶ παῖ· μήποτε σῶν λεχέων τὸν δυσώνυμον †ὤφελ’ ἐμὸν γένος ἐς τέκνα καὶ δόμον ἀμφιβαλέσθαι

231 Foley 2001: 100. 232 Hartung 1844: 111 and 119. 233 Foley sees in Peleus’ views on the marriage of Neoptolemus and Hermione the ἀρχὴ κακῶν, or, beginning of evils (2001: 102).

‘Ερμιόνας Ἀίδαν ἐπὶ σοί, τέκνον.†

O marriage, marriage, you who destroyed this house, and destroyed my city. Alas, my son! †Would that my family had not placed upon itself your ill-omened marriage with Hermione towards children and home, and fatal for you, my child!†234

With these words, Peleus indicates the far-reaching effects of the marriage alliance with

Sparta. Not only was it the cause of his grandson’s death, but it has also brought about the ruin of both his family and his city. Once again, the personal and political are linked.

It is at this moment when Peleus thinks that all is lost that Thetis appears as deus ex machina, bringing welcome news for our protagonists. Her first words announce the reason for her visit: it is because of her marriage to Peleus that she has come (χάριν

σοι...νυμφευμάτων, 1231). She instructs him to bury Neoptolemus in Delphi as a reproach to the Delphians and so that his grave may report to all his violent murder at the hands of Orestes (1239-42). Andromache, next, is to be married to Helenus, and shall go dwell in the land of Molossians where their descendants will reign over Molossia (1243-

49). At last, she turns her attention to Peleus. In order that he may feel gratitude (χάριν,

1253) for their marriage, she will make him a god (1253-58). The references she makes to their union are couched in such language of reciprocity. Thus, as a result of the good alliance that Peleus had made with Thetis, he receives the reward of immortality. This act of generosity emerges in marked contrast with the consequences suffered by the house of

234 My translation here follows Stevens and interprets ἐμὸν γένος as the subject of ὤφελε. He also reads σῶν λεχέων τὸ δυσώνυμον as τὸ σὸν δυσώνυμον λέχος, i.e. the hatefulness of your marriage = your hateful marriage (1971: 239).

Peleus of the marriage alliance with Menelaus and his family, a man who frequently

“misappropriates the rhetoric of communality and reciprocity (cf. 376-377, 438, 585)”.235

In the closing lines of the play, Peleus declares the lesson he has learned from recent events. Men, he declares, ought not to desire an ignoble woman as wife, even if she would bring with her a rich dowry. Rather, a man with sense will either take a wife for himself from a noble family or give his own daughter in marriage to one whom he deems good (1279-1282). Diggle and Stevens have notably called for the deletion of these lines.236 Stevens justifies this omission with two arguments. The first, deemed by

Lloyd to be cogent, maintains that εἶτα is frequently used to denote consequence, particularly with an emotional undertone. These lines, he argues, ought to follow some type of declaration about birth being of greater significance to marriage than wealth.237

He then suggests that the action of the play does not lend itself to the conclusion expressed by Peleus, as he himself married someone of extremely high birth and was transformed into a god as a result.238 Further, to his mind, neither the dowry, lineage, nor character of Hermione played a part in the death of Neoptolemus. Yet as Sommerstein has demonstrated, there is much to be said that supports an argument in favour of the authenticity of the lines.

235 Allan 2000: 102. 236 Diggle 1984; Stevens 1971. Most scholars agree, however, that 1283 is a likely interpolation. Sommerstein calls it “certainly spurious” (1988: 243). Contra: Johansen 1959, Kambitsis 1972. 237 Stevens 1971: 246. Cf. Lloyd 2005: 177. 238 Lloyd disagrees, pointing out that Peleus has expressed similar opinions on more than one occasion earlier in the play (2005: 177, cf. 619-623, 639-641). Norwood, in contrast, feels that the lines are “tolerable as a commonplace reflection on marriage in general, but in the present circumstances, regards them as “vulgar and trivial to the last degree” (1906: 120).

If these lines are genuine, as I believe, they are, in fact, in keeping with a pattern discernable in three of the five extant Euripidean tragedies of the period 431-421 BCE.239

In the Medea, Hippolytus, and Suppliant Women, the final spoken lines echo the opening of each play. Peleus’ comments recall Andromache’s opening words about Hector and the golden luxury of her own dowry (2-4). As for Stevens’ comments about the use of

εἶτα, Sommerstein considers the possibility that the lines which once preceded 1279-82 have dropped out of the text and been lost. While it is true that εἶτα expresses consequence (“and so, accordingly”), and one could reasonably argue that Peleus’ rhetorical question does not obviously follow from his declaration that he will 1) cease from grief and 2) (after burying Neoptolemus) go to the glens of Pelion, I would argue that both clauses are a direct consequence of the marriage alliances made by Peleus and

Neoptolemus, a subject that Peleus comments upon to close the play. The death and burial of Neoptolemus and Peleus’ trip to Pelion where he will be made a god represent two possible (though admittedly extreme) outcomes if a man should choose either to follow or disregard the advice. Consider Sommerstein’s own closing words on the end of the Andromache: “Peleus concludes this tragedy by reaffirming a maxim in which he has always believed and whose truth has been proved anew by his and his grandson’s contrasting fates”.240 These sentiments demonstrate that the marriage-alliance analogy has relevance not only to Thessaly and rich, but ignoble Sparta, but additionally to the noble Athenians.241 Peleus’ words, then, in effect, summarize the action of the entire play

239 Sommerstein 1988: 243-244. 240 ibid., 245-246. 241 Loraux observes that the orators used the terms eugeneia and autochthonia interchangeably as an expression of the noble and autochthonous birth of the Athenians, notions which were a key component of Athenian ideology and a basis for their claims to hegemony (1986: 149). See also 145-150.

and reiterate the implication that one ought to consider well with whom one enters into alliance.

2.5: Summary

In this chapter, I have sought to distinguish my own interpretation of Athenian hegemonic ideology from that of Angeliki Tzanetou. Although her study has contributed significantly to my methodological approach in reading the Andromache, the absence of

‘Athens’ onstage necessitates a different tactic to understand more fully the shift in

Athens’ ideological message as it reacts to Sparta’s counterhegemonic discourse. The lack of Athenian characters in the play opens up the possibility for a new interpretation of

Athenian hegemonic ideology, one which focuses more on its correlation to Athens’ rival for hegemony, Sparta. Thus, by applying an alternative frame to Tzanetou, I have argued that the theme of marriage provides a fruitful landscape in which to examine the political relationships between the Spartan and Thessalian characters of the play. We have seen the ways in which marriage and politics are continually intermingled in Greek life and, more specifically, in the Andromache. The marriage alliance that had been formed between the house of Thessalian Peleus and the house of Spartan Menelaus is said on multiple occasions to have been ill-advised and these statements are shown to be justified when it leads to the apparent destruction of Peleus’ family. In the following chapter I will consider the reasons for the denunciation of the alliance between the Thessalian and

Spartan households by further situating the content of the tragedy in the context of the

Peloponnesian War and the battle between Athens and Sparta for hegemony.

Chapter 3: The Andromache and Counterhegemony

3.1: Introduction

In the years leading up to and during the Peloponnesian War, Sparta advanced an ideology that sought to disparage and challenge Athens’ claims to hegemony and instead endorse its own position as leader of the Greek world. Just as Tzanetou interprets the

Heracleidae as a response to Spartan criticism of Athens’ tyrannical treatment of their allies, so too is it possible for one to read the Andromache as addressing and combating

Sparta’s propaganda of liberation.242 In this study, I rely heavily on comparative analysis between the Andromache and Thucydides’ Histories to assess the representation of

Spartan characters in the Andromache against the behaviour and actions of their historical counterparts. This chapter centers on the chief tenets of Sparta’s freedom propaganda – their opposition to tyranny, devotion to Panhellenic nomoi, and commitment to the common good – and the ways in which the characterization of Menelaus and Hermione engages with these directives. I argue that the presentation of Spartan characters in the

Andromache casts doubt on the sincerity of Spartan claims to have entered into the war with Athens in order to protect the freedoms of their fellow Hellenic city-states. As we will see, Hermione and Menelaus are endowed with attributes that cause them to appear incompatible with universally revered Panhellenic principles. In addition, they are shown to act out of a concern for their own interests while disregarding the welfare of their own

242 Cf. Tzanetou 2012: 75-77. I borrow the term ‘propaganda of liberation’ from Kurt A. Raaflaub. Euripides’ questioning of Spartan motivations was not unheard of at this time, although suspicions increased as the war progressed. Thucydides’ account also strove to “expose Sparta’s proclamation of Hellenic liberty, even before the war began, as a pretext, a strategic ploy, and a weapon of propaganda” (Raaflaub 2004: 197). Sparta would later gain a negative reputation for failing to maintain its promises to its allies (cf. Wickersham 1994: 72-78).

allies. Such negative qualities not only cast the Spartans in a poor light, but, on a larger scale, they also suggest that Spartan values are at odds with those of other Greek nations.

In order to establish the parameters of my argument and situate them within the historical context, I begin by outlining the traces of Sparta’s freedom propaganda as it appears throughout Thucydides. This program of liberation, I suggest, may be interpreted as a counterhegemony, as it advanced a competing voice to Athens’ hegemonic ideology, which simultaneously reasserted Sparta’s role as prostates and disputed Athens’ leadership. The depiction of the Spartans in the Andromache, then, should be considered in relation to this counterhegemonic voice.

3.2: Spartan Freedom Propaganda and Counterhegemony

Sparta’s propaganda of liberation can be interpreted as a part of a war of position against Athens in their struggle for hegemonic dominance. In 432 BCE Athenian and

Spartan allies alike appealed to Sparta to free them from Athenian subjugation.

According to the Thirty Years’ Peace, however, Sparta was not legally permitted to involve itself in Athens’ affairs or its sphere of influence. In order to justify its intervention, Sparta invoked the standards of traditional Hellenic nomoi, which made it possible for it to become involved under the pretext of protecting the rights of these allies.243 Ostwald infers from those passages which make reference to the plural form, nomoi, particularly in the sense of ‘mores’, that the Greeks “regarded these νόμοι as the aggregate of a number of specific νόμοι which dominate different aspects of the life of a people. These νόμοι […] are norms which a people regards as valid and binding in its

243 I refer here to nomoi in the sense of the valid and binding norms of proper conduct. For different accounts on nomos, its various meanings and development, see Ostwald 1969: 20-56.

social, religious, and political life”.244 As it is often necessary to read between the lines of ancient sources and infer what precisely constituted a Panhellenic nomos, it is a difficult task to identify a complete list of these procedures and customs. It is nevertheless clear that, to ancient Greek authors, at least, there was a certain set of distinctively Hellenic nomoi, which all Greeks shared in common, and which were considered to set them apart from non-Greeks and their traditions.245 Such collective customs were said to include generosity in assisting victims of injustice,246 rules concerning the burial of the dead,247 as well as other funeral rites,248 and the inviolability of altars.249

The concept of nomos, broadly speaking, had a complex and much disputed relationship to democracy and freedom.250 The Greeks were free, as Raaflaub remarks, because they were not subject to any ruler or imposed law. Rather, they had created for themselves a shared way of life and series of laws to which they were all expected to adhere.251 In this way, Greek nomoi were directly connected with the establishment and maintenance of Hellenic freedom; to violate a Panhellenic custom could be viewed as

244 Ostwald 1969: 34 (emphasis added). 245 Such Hellenic nomoi could be broken down even further to reflect the mores of any given Greek city. On the nomoi shared by all Greeks, see Hdt. 6.86β, 7.102; Eur. Or. 495, fr. 853; Thuc. 1.41. On the nomoi of non-Greeks, see Eur. Andr. 243, Bacch. 484. 246 Raaflaub 2004: 274. 247 Cf. Eur. Suppl. 526, 563, 671; Soph. Aj. 1130, 1343, Ant. 24, 519. 248 Cf. Eur. Hel. 1241-3, 1246, 1258; Tro. 266-7; Hdt. 2.36.1, 3.16.3-4, 6.58.2. 249 Cf. Eur. fr. 1049.2; Hel. 800. 250 See Raaflaub 2004: 233-235. Raaflaub uses Herodotus 7.101-105 to illustrate his point, explaining that the Greeks, and especially the Spartans, exhibit bravery in battle because of these self-imposed laws and the desire to win both collective and individual arete. The Persians, on the other hand, display bravery out of fear of physical punishment and the wrath of their king. On nomos and democracy see Jones 1957: 50f.; Tarkiainen 1966: 351f.; Dover 1974: 288f.; de Romilly 1975: 73f.; de Ste. Croix 1981: 284-285; Ostwald 1986: 250f. and index, s.v. Nomos. On the importance of nomos in the fifth century see also Heinimann 1945: 59f.; Ostwald 1969: 20f., 1986: esp. ch. 2; Quass 1971: 14f.; Lévy 1976: 90f., 165f., 173f. 251 Raaflaub 2004: 234.

tantamount to an infringement upon this freedom.252 Moreover, obedience to these communal principles and norms was represented not as a form of subjugation, but as a prerequisite for such things as prosperity and happiness. A commitment to abide by and preserve nomoi, therefore, helped also to contribute toward the good of the community more generally, both that of the individual city-state, and of the Hellenic community as a whole.

Closely related to the concept of Greek freedom, is the fact that Sparta had previously earned a reputation of being hostile to tyranny, and in particular, a reputation for liberating Greeks from tyrannies, which dated back to the sixth century BCE. The

Ionians, for example, had appealed to it for aid against incursions by the Persian king

Cyrus (Hdt. 1.141) and it also successfully deposed the tyrant Hippias in Athens (Thuc.

6.53.3). This status was central to its claims to prostasia amongst Greek city-states and obligated it to protect any Greek community that was threatened with wrongdoing. For this reason, the effective enslavement of Greek poleis at the hands of Athens exemplified an injustice that Sparta, drawing on its reputation as prostates and its obligations to

Hellenic nomoi, claimed it was compelled to redress.253

As Thucydides tells us, it is the Corinthians who first raise the issue of the liberation of the Greeks at the assemblies of the Peloponnesian League in Sparta and demand that the Lacedaemonians take action. They allege that Athens had enslaved some of its allies and was plotting to do the same to others (1.68.3). Moreover, they consider

Sparta itself responsible for their plight, accusing it of always depriving not only those

252 Ostwald describes nomos as the (his emphasis) characteristic of a free society, citing passages from Herodotus and Thucydides as evidence (cf. Hdt. 7.101-105; Thuc. 3.64.3). 253 Raaflaub 2004: 196. See Drexler 1976: 28-35 for discussion on the subjugation of Greeks as injustice.

Greek cities enslaved by Athens but also Sparta’s own allies (1.69.1). In their eyes, such inaction was inexcusable, especially “if that power aspires to the glory of being the liberator of Hellas” (εἴπερ καὶ τὴν ἀξίωσιν τῆς ἀρετῆς ὡς ἐλευθερῶν τὴν Ἑλλάδα

φέρεται, 1.69.1). When Sparta at last concedes to the pleas of its allies and agrees to lead the Peloponnesian League in a war against Athens, should it refuse to restore the freedom of the Hellenes, the Corinthians interpret this act as the mark of a true leader. As they put it, “leaders, while duly taking care of their own affairs, must be first in considering the common interest, just as their public honors raise them above all others” (χρὴ γὰρ τοὺς

ἡγεμόνας τὰ ἴδια ἐξ ἴσου νέμοντας τὰ κοινὰ προσκοπεῖν, ὣσπερ καὶ ἐν ἄλλοις ἐκ πάντων

προτιμῶνται, 1.120.1). This description of how a good leader should act echoes

Gramsci’s conception of ‘incorporative’ hegemony, the significance of which will be discussed further below.254

It is after these meetings that Sparta adopts the motto of liberation of the Greeks for itself and actively revives its reputation as the prostates of all Hellas. In 431 BCE at the outbreak of the war, we hear of the first instance of Sparta proclaiming itself as liberator; until this time, it had only been referred to as such by others. Thucydides remarks that a great number of people supported the Spartans, “especially since they proclaimed that they were liberating Hellas” (ἄλλως τε καὶ προειπόντων ὅτι τἠν Ἑλλάδα

ἐλευθεροῦσιν, 2.8.4). As Raaflaub observes, it is possible to infer the intensity with which Sparta advanced its propaganda of liberation by the frequency with which

254 The term ‘incorporative hegemony’, which describes the necessity for the hegemonic group to incorporate some of the aspects of the ideology and interests of subordinate groups in order to achieve dominance successfully, is not actually a Gramscian invention. While it does accurately describe an integral process in Gramsci’s concept of hegemony, I borrow the term itself from Alan Hunt. See Hunt 1990: 311.

Thucydides refers to it.255 Moreover, the moments at which Thucydides mentions it, the destruction of Plataea, the Mytilenean Debate, Brasidas’s speeches in Thrace, the Melian

Dialogue, and the debates in Sicily, all crucial events to the progression of the war, speak to the significance of the program to Sparta’s professed position in marked contrast to

Athens.256 If one considers the list, it is possible to see a representation of several of the most significant events from almost every book of the Histories. Thus, at both historically and thematically decisive moments of the war the audience is once again reminded of the program of liberation.

The motive of Hellenic freedom and independence is used repeatedly in order to convince Athenian allies to desert and join the cause for Hellas – under the leadership of

Sparta. For example, when Brasidas beseeches the Acanthians to revolt from Athens and ally themselves with Sparta, he declares adamantly that the reason for which the Spartans went to war was to free Greece (4.85.1).257 At the time of his arrival the city of Acanthus was divided into two camps, one in support of Sparta, the other still loyal to Athens

(4.85.2). In his speech, Brasidas repeatedly stresses that he has come in order to liberate the Hellenes (4.85.1, 85.5, 86.1, 87.4, 87.5). He swears to the Acanthians that all allies who go over to Sparta’s side will be guaranteed their independence (4.86.2, 87.5, 88.1).

After listening to Brasidas’ words, the people of Acanthus put the matter to a vote. The majority decides to revolt from Athens, in part because they were swayed by Brasidas’

255 Raaflaub 2004: 194. 256 ibid., 341 n. 137. Cf. Plataea (2.72.1), Mytilene (3.9-14), Thrace (4.85-87), Melos (5.86, 91.1-2, 92-93, 99-100, 105.2-3, 112.1), and Sicily (4.60.1-2, 61.5, 63.2, 64.1f, 6.20.2, 69.3, 77.1, 88.1, 7.56.2, 66.2, 68.2- 3, 82.1). 257 Thuc. 4.85.1: Akanthians, the purpose of the Lacedaemonians in sending me out with my army was to uphold the cause we proclaimed in beginning the war, that we would go to war against the Athenians as liberators of Hellas (‘Acanthians, the Spartans have sent me out with an army to make good the reason that we gave for the war when we began it, namely, that we were going to war with the Athenians in order to free Hellas’.).

arguments (4.88.1). It is in these passages that Raaflaub sees a definition of Sparta’s program of liberation and a revelation of its strategic and political significance.258

From the time of the first debate at Sparta, Greek poleis, including allies of both

Athens and Sparta, made it clear that they wanted the Lacedaemonians to lead them in a mass revolt against Athenian oppression. Corinth, as we have seen, was the first to characterize the liberation of Hellas as demonstrative of the interests of all Greeks. At the second allied congress, the Corinthians frame their speech with appeals to general interest. The Corinthian delegate begins by describing Sparta’s declaration of war as not only in its own interests but also as working toward the common good (τὰ κοινὰ,

1.120.1). Then again in his closing, he counsels the Spartans in no uncertain terms

(1.124.1):

ὥστε πανταχόθεν καλῶς ὑπάρχον ὑμῖν πολεμεῖν καὶ ἡμῶν κοινῇ τάδε παραινούντων, εἴπερ βεβαιότατον τὸ ταὐτὰ ξυμφέροντα καὶ πόλεσι καὶ ἰδιώταις εἶναι, μὴ μέλλετε Ποτειδεάταις τε ποιεῖσθαι τιμωρίαν οὖσι Δωριεῦσι καὶ ὑπὸ Ἰώνων πολιορκουμένοις, οὗ πρότερον ἦν τοὐναντίον, καὶ τῶν ἄλλων μετελθεῖν τὴν ἐλευθερίαν.

So then, since from every quarter a favourable opportunity offers itself to you to go to war, and since we recommend this course in the common interest – if it be true that identity of interest is the surest policy for states and individuals to follow – make haste to succor the Potidaeans, who are Dorians and besieged by Ionians – the reverse of what used to be – and to recover the liberty of the rest.

It is evident from the above passage that, in the eyes of the Corinthians, war, and more specifically, the liberation of Hellas, is explicitly related to the benefit and wellbeing of every Greek. While other city-states do not express this sentiment in as unambiguous terms, Thucydides nonetheless reveals that several of them shared the Corinthians’ attitude. The people of Aegina, for instance, are described as being on the side of Corinth

258 Raaflaub 2004: 341 n. 137.

(1.67.2), and many others, including the Megarians, are said to have come forward with complaints against the Athenians (1.67.4). For this reason, the Corinthians urge their fellow Greeks also to vote for war, reminding them that, if they should wish to be successful in warding off the Athenians, then every nationality and every city will need to be of ‘one purpose’ (μιᾷ γνώμῃ, 1.122.2). In their minds, a vote for war is tantamount to a vote to reclaim the liberty of all Hellenes.259 Following the imperative commands in the above passage, by means of which they bid their allies not to delay and to vote for war, the use of the hortatory subjunctive at the conclusion of the speech of the Corinthian representative drives this point home (1.124.3):

παραστησώμεθα ἐπελθόντες, καὶ αὐτοί τε ἀκινδύνως τὸ λοιπὸν οἰκῶμεν καὶ τοὺς νῦν δεδουλωμένους Ἕλληνας ἐλευθερώσωμεν.

Let us attack and overthrow [Athens], and let us live in security for the future and free those now enslaved.

The hortatory subjunctive is used to “urge someone to unite with the speaker in a course of action upon which he has already decided.”260 In this case, the united purpose which the Corinthians want their allies to vote for is clear, the liberation of Hellas. The Spartans, latching on to this idea, absorbed the concept of Hellenic freedom into their own reasons for initiating war against Athens.

259 Cf. Thuc. 1.124.1-2: μὴ μέλλετε […] καὶ τῶν ἄλλων μετελθεῖν τὴν ἐλευθερίαν, ὡς οὐκέτι ἐνδέχεται περιμένοντας τοὺς μὲν ἤδη βλάπτεσθαι, τοὺς δ᾽, εἰ γνωσθησόμεθα ξυνελθόντες μέν, ἀνύμεσθαι δὲ οὐ τολμῶντες, μὴ πολὺ ὕστερον τὸ αὐτὸ πάσχειν· ἀλλὰ νομίσαντες ἐς ἀνάγκην ἀφῖχθαι, ὦ ἄνδρες ξύμμαχοι, καὶ ἅμα τάδε ἄριστα λέγεσθαι, ψηφίσασθε τὸν πόλεμον (‘do not hesitate to bring aid to the Potidaians, who are Dorians and besieged by Ionians, a reversal of the past, nor to seek freedom for others, since it is not acceptable that, by further waiting, some of us should be injured right now and others – if we are known to have met, but without daring to defend ourselves – will suffer this in the near future. Rather than this, allies, realizing that you have reached the point of necessity, and that what has been said here is right, vote for war’.). 260 Chamberlain 1979: 83.

By undertaking the cause of its allies, Sparta represents its own interests as being aligned with the interests of all of Greece, just as was common for a group to do, according to Gramsci’s theory, when endeavoring to establish hegemony over other groups. Thus, Spartan freedom propaganda helps to advance a counterhegemonic ideology that achieved the conformism of subordinate groups based on the appearance of the incorporation of their ideals and interests. It accomplishes this in the same way that

Athenian encomia portray the Athenian empire as a hegemony, with Athens assuming the role of a leader who shared the values of its allies who, in turn, were depicted as willingly consenting to Athenian leadership.

It is worth pointing out that the Lacedaemonians were almost certainly not entirely disingenuous about their intentions to liberate Hellenic cities from Athenian rule.

It is much more likely that this objective was simply secondary to Sparta’s own interests and the security of its position.261 Yet in view of the fact that Sparta’s traditional function as leader of Hellas had been morally and politically legitimized amongst its fellow

Greeks by its continued commitment to safeguarding them against injustice, it would be surprising if the Spartans were not aware of the positive implications that taking on the cause of those who had suffered, or been threatened with, harm from Athens could have on their own interests of a prostasia in the Peloponnese. In Thucydides’ account of

Sparta’s ultimatum to Athens, Raaflaub sees an effort to expose its proclamation of a

‘war of liberation’ as “a pretext, a strategic ploy, and a weapon of propaganda”.262

Although the Spartan embassies had previously demanded the cessation of hostilities against Potidaea, the liberation of Aegina, and the revocation of the Megarian Degree,

261 Cf. Lévy 1976: 63-64; Raaflaub 2004: 201-202. 262 Raaflaub 2004: 197. Cf. Thuc. 1.126.1, 1.139.

when at last they present Athens with an ultimatum in order to avoid war, Hellenic liberty alone is mentioned as their final stipulation. At first glance, the inclusion of the liberation of Hellas in the ultimatum suggests that it is the most important of the earlier conditions set by Sparta. In reality, its placement reveals the unimportance of the issue, since, had the Athenians accepted any of the earlier terms, the liberation of the Greeks would have become a nonissue.263 Thucydides was not alone in his assessment of Sparta’s true motives. Herodotus, too, makes clear that, despite Sparta’s professed commitment to the liberation of Hellas, its primary focus was always the defense of the Peloponnese and maintenance of Spartan interests.264 As the conflict waged on, Sparta’s increasingly aggressive behaviour toward its allies and other Greek cities would ultimately bring about skepticism about the sincerity of its alleged intentions for going to war.265

3.3: The Andromache and Hegemonic Crisis

As Hunt aptly summarizes, the contested nature of hegemony becomes all the more clear when considered in relation to the development of counterhegemonies.266

Indeed, hegemony necessarily endeavours to mitigate resistance, or counterhegemonies, by either contesting or incorporating competing voices.267 It was also possible that a competing counterhegemony could arise with such force and rapidity that the dominant group would become faced with a hegemonic crisis. Such a crisis typically resulted in the

263 According to Thucydides (1.139.1), at the second embassy of the Spartans to Athens, καὶ μάλιστά γε πάντων καὶ ἐνδηλότατα προύλεγον τὸ περὶ Μεγαρέων ψήφισμα καθελοῦσι μὴ ἂν γίγνεσθαι πόλεμον, ἐν ᾧ εἴρητο αὐτοὺς μὴ χρῆσθαι τοῖς λιμέσι τοῖς ἐν τῇ Ἀθηναίων ἀρχῆ μηδὲ τῇ Ἀττικῇ ἀγορᾷ (‘they especially and with unmistakable clarity counseled them that there would not be war if they revoked the decree against the Megarians, in which it was stated that they could not use the ports of the Athenian empire or the market of Attica’.). 264 Cf. Hdt. 8.56-63, 74; 9.7-11. 265 See Raaflaub 2004: 197-201. 266 Hunt 1990: 314. 267 Tzanetou 2012: 28.

undermining of the group’s previously secured leadership, which could further affect its domination to the extent that the group would be unable to continue to rule as it formerly had. With the onset of Sparta’s counterhegemony, it became necessary for Athens not only to reassert its own hegemonic ideology, but also to alter the manner in which it promoted itself as leader of the Hellenic people, now taking into consideration the components of Sparta’s propaganda of liberation. The depiction of the Spartans in the

Andromache, I argue, may be understood in relation to this counterhegemonic voice that

Sparta was disseminating throughout Greece.

As we saw in Chapter 2 above, traditional suppliant drama advanced Athenian interests by employing a defensive strategy, countering the criticisms launched at it by its enemies. It was noted briefly that Euripides’ Heracleidae responds to attacks on Athenian rule, which accused Athens of behaving like a polis tyrannos.268 The Andromache, too, reacts to ideas that were circulating at the time, but, in contrast, it takes more of an offensive approach. It counters Sparta’s freedom propaganda, undermining its assertions as prostates and redirecting its negative criticisms of Athens’ leadership back onto

Sparta.269 As we will see in the following sections, through its presentation of the

Lacedaemonian characters of Hermione and Menelaus, the Andromache addresses and contests the central tenets of Sparta’s propaganda of liberation: its opposition to tyranny and the enslavement of Greeks, its dedication to upholding Panhellenic nomoi, and its commitment to acting in the best interests of all Hellenes.

268 On Athens as polis tyrannos, see Connor 1977; Hunter 1974; Raaflaub 1984, 2004: 141-143, Seaford 2003, and Tuplin 1985. On the concept of the polis tyrannos more generally, see also de Romilly 1963: 125-126; Raaflaub 2003: 77-81; Tuplin 1985: 351-357. 269 See below, in Chapter 5 for more on the displacement of the negative aspects of Athenian imperial rule.

3.4: Spartan Characterization and Tyrannical Parallels

It has already been established that the framework of the Andromache lends itself to a reading as a traditional suppliant drama. Beyond the basic plot structure, the

Andromache also parallels such suppliant plays, and Euripides’ so-called political dramas in particular, in terms of characterization. To be sure, it was not necessary for a tragedy to depict Athenian characters onstage in order for that play to promote an ideology consistent with Athenian interests. Although the antagonists of traditional suppliant drama take on the guise of various nationalities (Argive in the Heracleidae, Theban in the

Suppliant Women and Oedipus at Colonus, for instance), they are all typified by the same characteristics. As Tzanetou notes with reference to the Heracleidae, the play offers a contrast between tyranny and democracy, bia and eleutheria, through the characterization of the Argive herald and Athenian king.270 This polarization is seen repeated throughout the other suppliant plays. In Sophocles’ Oedipus at Colonus, Creon also attempts to use violence in order to achieve his desired end. Theseus stands up to him, invoking the democratic (and very Athenian) ideals of law and justice. Likewise, in the Suppliant

Women, Athens’ acceptance of the Argive suppliants and their pleas is characterized as a just and morally right action. The chorus describes the city of Athens as preventing the laws of mankind from being defiled, revering justice, combating injustices, and always rescuing the ill-fated (377-80). Athens and its democratic leader are set in direct contrast to Thebes and its ruler, Creon, who is portrayed as a menacing tyrant, one who will not allow the Argive women to perform the proper funeral rituals for their deceased loved ones. These brief examples demonstrate that, just as Tzanetou observed in the case of the

270 Tzanetou 2012: 110.

Heracleidae, a recurring dichotomy appears throughout suppliant dramas. On the one side, the protagonists are seen to be supporters of the democratic ideals of equality, fairness, and liberty. They champion the Panhellenic virtues of respecting divine law and punishing wrongdoing. Their opponents, on the other side, display none of these qualities, favouring instead violent and impious measures and the pursuit of self-interest.

Herodotus makes clear the contrast between these two types in the constitutional debate he attributes to Darius, Otanes, and Megabyzus in Book 3 of the Histories (3.80-

83). The three men voice their opinions in a debate over which type of government Persia should assume. Despite its clear anachronism, the debate nevertheless may be viewed as reflecting, at least in part, contemporary thoughts about the predominant forms of Greek government during Herodotus’ time. Each argues in favour of a different constitution: rule of one, rule of few, and rule of many, yet as Millender observes, most of the debate focuses on the advantages and disadvantages of democratic and monarchical rule.271 It is

Otanes, the first to speak, who articulates the pros of democracy in marked contrast to the cons of autocratic rule.272 Criticizing the institution of monarchy, he asks (3.80.2-5):

κῶς δ’ ἂν εἴη χρῆμα κατηρτημένον μουναρχίη, τῇ ἔξεστι ἀνευθύνῳ ποιέειν τὰ βούλεται; καὶ γὰρ ἂν τὸν ἄριστον ἀνδρῶν πάντων στάντα ἐς ταύτην έκτὸς τῶν ἐωθότων νοημἀτων στήσειε. ἐγγίνεται μὲν γάρ οἱ ὕβρις ὑπὸ τῶν παρεόντων ἀγαθῶν, φθόνος δὲ ἀρχῆθεν ἐμφύεται ἀνθρώπῳ. δύο δ’ ἔχων ταῦτα ἔχει πᾶσαν κακότητα· τὰ μὲν γὰρ ὕβρι κεκορημένος ἔρδει πολλὰ καὶ ἀτάσθαλα, τὰ δὲ φθόνῳ. καίτοι ἄνδρα γε τύραννον ἄφθονον ἔδει εἶναι, ἔχοντά γε πάντα τὰ ἀγαθά. τὸ δὲ

271 Millender 1996: 107. She further asserts that the arguments put forward by the men concerning the rule of many make clear that it is Athenian democracy to which they are referring rather than a more general concept of popular government. The implications of having Athens as the point of comparison here will be examined in greater detail below. For now, it will suffice to call attention to the fact that the debate renders democracy the antithesis of despotism (cf. ibid., 109). 272 Otanes does not directly refer to ‘democracy’ as such, calling it instead πλῆθος ἄρχον (‘rule of the multitude’). He also favours the term ‘monarchy’ to tyranny, although he does at one point describe this kind of ruler as τύραννον. The implications of his descriptors are clear. Those who interpret the monarch of Otanes’ speech as tyrant include, but are not limited to, Asheri 2007: 389-390, 473-475; Fisher 2002: 211; Forsdyke 2002: 544.

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ὑπεναντίον τούτου ἐς τοὺς πολιήτας πέφυκε· φθονέει γὰρ τοῖσι ἀρίστοισι περιεοῦσί τε καὶ ζώουσι, χαίρει δὲ τοῖσι κακίστοισι τῶν ἀστῶν, διαβολὰς δὲ ἄριστος ἐνδέκεσθαι. ἀναρμοστότατον δὲ πάντων· ἤν τε γὰρ αὐτὸν μετρίως θωμάζῃς, ἄχθεται ὅτι οὐ κάρτα θεραπεύεται, ἤν τε θεραπεύῃ τις κάρτα, ἄχθεται ἅτε θωπί. τὰ δὲ δὴ μέγιστα ἔρχομαι ἐρέων· νόμαιά τε κινέει πάρτρια καὶ βιᾶται γυναῖκας κτείνει τε ἀκρίτους.

How can monarchy be a well-adjusted thing, when it provides the possibility for a man to do what he wishes without being subject to any account? Monarchy would place even the best of all men holding this position of power outside of his wonted thoughts. For hybris arises in him as a result of the presence of good things, and envy is engendered in man from the beginning. Possessing these two tendencies, he possesses all wickedness; sated [with power] he commits many reckless deeds, some from hybris, some from jealousy. It is true that the tyrannical man should be free from envy, since he possesses all good things, but the opposite occurs in his dealings with his citizens. He envies the best of them merely for continuing to live, takes pleasure in the worst of the citizens, and is most disposed to listen to slander. Of all men he is the most inconsistent; if you admire him with moderation, he is vexed because he is not paid extreme attention, and if someone pays him extreme attention, he is angry at him for being a flatterer. But the worst things of all I am now going to mention: he disturbs ancestral usages, does violence to women, and kills men without trial.

The organizing principle of Otanes’ model of monarchy for Millender is hybris.273 The insolent character of the autocrat impels him to reckless deeds, which Otanes catalogues in his denunciation, culminating in a tricolon crescendo of wicked behaviour: the tyrannical man displays impiety by disturbing ancestral customs, exhibits excessive violence toward women especially, and puts men to death without due process.

Edith Hall’s seminal work Inventing the Barbarian likewise engages with the image of the tyrant on the dramatic stage. She argues that over the course of the fifth century playwrights created a ‘discourse’ or ‘vocabulary’ of barbarism. One of the most significant aspects of this discourse was the sphere of politics; indeed, she maintains that this was the area in which tragedians differed most greatly from their epic prototypes in

273 Millender 1996: 158.

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their presentation of foreigners.274 Barbarian tyranny developed into a common rhetorical topos and could even be employed by tragic poets in plays that featured no barbarian characters. The presentation of barbarian tyrants on stage, according to Hall’s analysis, was strongly influenced by contemporary ideas and opinions about the Persian monarchy, including a predisposition toward physical cruelty, excessive fondness for luxury, and an absence of accountability. Notably, in discussing the contrast between Greek (Athenian) democracy and Persian monarchy, Hall cites Queen Atossa’s contention that her son is not ὑπεύθυνος, ‘answerable to the state’ (Aesch. Pers. 213), the positive form of the very term that Otanes used to describe the autocrat in Herodotus.275 Yet as Carolyn Dewald observes, Greek tyrants form an equally important part of Herodotus’ narrative.276 They, too, like their eastern counterparts, commit atrocities. Indeed, from Book 3 on, Herodotus documents a growing connection between eastern despotism and Greek tyranny, particularly in reference to Persian involvement in the (re)establishment and maintenance of local despotisms. To be sure, the Athenians’ own immediate experiences with tyranny would have undoubtedly also influenced their response to tyrannical representations on stage.277 Raaflaub demonstrates that for fifth-century Athenians, a strong tradition of antityrannicism prevailed. This sentiment even resulted the execration of the Pesistratids, despite the fact that the characterization of Peisistratus in Herodotus does not adhere to the standard template of a tyrannical behaviour.

274 Cf. Hall 1989: 154-159. 275 See Hall 1989: 76-100, esp. 93-98, for the various techniques of depicting Persians (as opposed to barbarians in general) in the theatre. For Hall’s complete treatment of the ‘vocabulary of barbarism’ as applied to mythical foreigners beyond Persia, see 101-159. 276 Dewald 2003: 36-40. 277 See Raaflaub 2003 for the function of tyranny in fifth-century Athens.

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Building from Otanes’ account, as well as the image of the tyrant from Plato’s

Republic, Richard Seaford identifies impiety, distrust of philoi, and greed (specifically power through money), as three of the most frequently occurring characteristics associated with the tyrant – all of which the Spartan characters in the Andromache may be seen as exhibiting.278 Although often depicted as character defects by some ancient authors, Seaford argues that these qualities ought to be regarded rather as tools by which tyrannical power is obtained and maintained. For the tyrant, he explains, “the claims of family, as of the sacred, are annulled by the individual desire for power that depends on violence- and on money”.279 He observes the presence and interconnection of these three features in a wide variety of texts, including historical, philosophical and literary. The portrayal of Hermione and Menelaus in the Andromache likewise combines all three practices, representing the Spartans as tyrannical by using some of the most typical characteristics associated with tyrants. Turning to the Andromache, we may observe how the presentation of the Spartan figures continues the characterization of antagonists noted above in Athenian suppliant drama.

Euripides uses Hermione’s opening lines to establish immediately her avaricious character and reliance on wealth.280 She boasts of her golden adornments, the finery of her clothing, and her abundant dowry, riches, which, she makes clear, derive from her native land of Sparta, thereby implying that the house of Neoptolemus possesses inferior

278 Cf. Pl. Resp. 9 571a-580a. The association of tyranny and wealth has been noted and analyzed by previous scholars. Seaford describes wealth as “an essential defining characteristic” of tyranny (2003: 117- 144, esp. 122). See also Berve 1967: I: 111; O’Neil 1986: 28-29. 279 Seaford 2003: 97. Although these statements are made in reference to Polyaenus’ account on the rise and fall of Polycrates, the sixth-century Samian tyrant, as Seaford himself makes clear, he uses Polyaenus’ description as a specific example in order to demonstrate his point with regards to tyrants more generally. 280 Hermione’s speech here works to illustrate her character, as was common in oratorical discourse (cf. Allan 2000: 129).

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fortunes.281 In her eyes, such belongings allow her freedom of speech in her husband’s household (147-53). These features are strongly tied to Hermione’s character, so much so that in her second appearance on stage, more than seven hundred lines later, the nurse reminds both Hermione and the audience of her illustrious position, citing her large dowry, her impressive lineage, and prosperous homeland (872-4).

Hermione’s equation of independent riches with privilege correlates to the tyrannical practice of acquiring and exercising power through money, a connection that has not gone unnoticed by scholars.282 The link between prosperity and the right to speak freely is strongly emphasized in Hermione’s self-description.283 The proem of her opening speech builds to a climax with the final word, ἐλευθεροστομεῖν, to be of free speech.284 Its placement in the sentence is suggestive of its importance, as is its use in a result clause, indicating its dependence on everything that precedes it. In reality, her sense of entitlement reflects instead an abuse of her position, especially given that “she is willing to exploit the advantages [her wealth] gives her, even to spite her husband and to

281 Cf. Storey 1989: 19. 282 As Kyriakou sees it, “the aspect of her heritage Hermione most fiercely, almost obsessively, clings to is her family’s wealth which she views as the guarantor of her social position” (1997: 11). Boulter identifies Menelaus and Hermione as representing “pride and power derived from wealth” (1966: 53), and Hesk describes Hermione’s behaviour as a “valorisation of wealth” (2000: 72). 283 See Allan 2000: 97: “An interesting feature of characterization in the Andromache is the varying techniques of self-definition employed. That of the Spartans is particularly revealing. Both Hermione and Menelaus continually affirm their status as royal, Greek, and free (cf. esp. 153-155, 243, 665-666, 860).” 284 Cf. Andr. 147-156: κόσμον μὲν ἀμφὶ κρατὶ χρυσέας χλιδῆς στολμόν τε χρωτὸς τόνδε ποικίλων πέπλων οὐ τῶν Ἀχιλλέως οὐδὲ Πηλέως ἀπὸ δόμων ἀπαρχὰς δεῦρ᾽ ἔχουσ᾽ ἀφικόμην, ἀλλ᾽ ἐκ Λακαίνης Σπαρτιάτιδος χθονὸς Μενέλαος ἡμῖν ταῦτα δωρεῖται πατὴρ πολλοῖς σὺν ἕνδοις, ὥστ᾽ ἐλευθεροστομεῖν. [ὑμᾶς μὲν οὖν τοῖσδ᾽ ἀνταμείβομαι λόγοις.] σὺ δ᾽ οὖσα δούλη καὶ δορίκτητος γυνὴ δόμους κατασχεῖν ἐκβαλοῦσ᾽ ἡμᾶς θέλεις τούσδε (‘The ornament of golden luxury around my head and this embroidered cloth worn upon my skin – I did not arrive with here as the first-fruits from the house of Achilles nor of Peleus, but my father, Menelaus, presented them to me from the Laconian land of Sparta, along with many bridal gifts, and therefore I may speak my mind. [So with these words I shall answer you all.] But although you are a slave woman, won by the spear, you mean to throw me out of this house and occupy it.’) Line 154 is interpreted by Mastronarde as a “pedantic reader’s addition” (1979: 116).

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trample underfoot a weaker rival’s rights”.285 Allan notes the force of the delayed

μέν…δέ construction, which compares Hermione’s possession of fineries and consequent right to free speech to Andromache’s servile status and implied denial of this same basic right.286

The effects of the relationship between money and civic liberties can be seen in the debate between Hermione and Andromache, which recalls aspects associated with the

Athenian legal system. Tzanetou has previously observed this parallel with regard to the debate between Iolaus and the Argive herald in the Heracleidae, though she interprets that scene as underscoring the fairness of the Athenian judicial system.287 In marked contrast to the agon of the Heracleidae, Hermione’s beliefs, which are made manifest during the debate, suggest a perversion of the Athenian concepts of isegoria, and more especially, parrhesia, notions that were fundamental to the Athenian democracy, as they denote political and legal equality.288 It is important to note, however, that the right of free speech, even before its association with democracy, was seen as a marker of a free city in pointed contrast to tyrannical oppression.289 Hermione’s behaviour, therefore, in denying to Andromache the equal right to speak and be heard, distinguishes her from the egalitarian practices of the Athenians and casts her instead in the guise of an autocratic tyrant.

285 Kyriakou 1997: 12. See also Allan 2000: 178. 286 Allan 2000: 130. 287 Tzanetou 2012: 80. 288 Raaflaub 2004: 62, 83. Hesk interprets these lines somewhat differently. He views Hermione’s words and behaviour as transgressing the Athenian democratic practices and legislation that governed female conduct and public display (2000: 71). While this view differs slightly from my own, Hesk’s observations nevertheless detect a contrast between Athenian values and Hermione’s behaviour as a Spartan. For instance, Loraux sees in the Heracleidae an emphasis on the personal liberty of the citizen, and views Euripides’ ‘political plays’ (Heracleidae and Suppliant Women) as exalting isegoria (1986: 215). 289 Raaflaub 2004: 96-102, esp. 96.

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In her debate with Andromache, Hermione takes on the role of both prosecutor and judge, bringing charges against her defendant and preparing to carry out the sentence.

She alleges that she is unable to bear children on account of Andromache’s harmful sorcery and accuses her of plotting to set her own children on the throne. As we have seen, Hermione bases her right to speak not on egalitarianism, but on riches and status.

This is evident from her reliance on the greatness of Sparta and her father in the debate since her arguments are flawed (192-193, 209-212).290

Andromache acknowledges the difficulty of her position in the opening lines of her retort (186-190):

ἐγὼ δὲ ταρβῶ μὴ τὸ δουλεύειν μέ σοι λόγων ἀπώσῃ πόλλ᾽ ἔχουσαν ἔνδικα, ἢν δ᾽ αὖ κρατήσω, μὴ ᾽πὶ τῷδ᾽ ὄφλω βλάβην· οἱ γὰρ πνέοντες μεγάλα τοὺς κρείσσους λόγους πικρῶς φέρουσι τῶν ἐλασσόνων ὕπο.

I fear that my being your slave will prevent me from speaking, even though I have many just points, and again that, if I prevail, I suffer harm for this very reason. Since those who put on airs receive stronger arguments From their lessers bitterly.

Although she knows that she has justice on her side, Andromache nevertheless recognizes that she will not persuade her adversary on account of her servile status. In another of Euripides’ post-Trojan War plays, Hecuba similarly laments the effect that status has on one’s ability to persuade. She reminds Odysseus, “even if you speak poorly, your reputation will prevail: for the same speech does not have the same power when

290 Andromache accusingly and sarcastically demands to know the reliable reasoning (ἐχεγγύῳ λόγῳ) Hermione claims Andromache had for plotting against her.

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spoken by men of no esteem and men of repute” (Hec. 294-295).291 Andromache knows that, in Hermione’s mind, money equals power. Thus, speaking in terms that resonate with Hermione, she asks sarcastically (194-195, 196-198)292:

[ὡς ἡ Λάκαινα τῶν Φρυγῶν μείων πόλις, τύχη θ᾽ ὑπερθεῖ, κἄμ᾽ ἐλευθέραν ὁρᾷς;]293 […] ἢν τῷ νέῳ τε καὶ σφριγῶντι σώματι πόλεως τε μεγέθει καὶ φίλοις ἐπηρμένη οἶκον κατασχεῖν τὸν σὸν ἀντὶ σοῦ θέλω;

[Is it that Sparta is a lesser city than Troy, that it surpasses it in good fortune, and that you see me as a free woman?] […] or is it that, roused by youth and a body in full health, by the greatness of my city and by friends, I intend to possess your home instead of you?

The irony of Andromache’s questions is, of course, that the conduct she describes is not her own, but that of Hermione. It is Menelaus’ daughter who, spurred on by her status, prosperity, and other physical advantages, believes she is entitled to assume unlimited control over the household of another, namely, the residence of her husband,

Neoptolemus.294

As Lloyd points out, it is often difficult in dramatic agones to determine which party is in the right or, less frequently, whether each side is merited in their claim. Yet in

291 τὸ δ᾽ ἀξίωμα, κἂν κακῶς λέγῃς, τὸ σὸν πείσει· λόγος γὰρ ἔκ τ᾽ ἀδοξούντων ἰὼν κἀκ τῶν δοκούντων αὑτὸς οὐ ταὐτὸν σθένει. Allan perceives in these lines that, “[t]he contrast with her own powerlessness to persuade is uppermost, but the sense that ‘justice’ is in the hands of the powerful is also present” (2000: 124). 292 I follow Kovacs’ edition here, which inserts lines 199-200 between 195 and 196. My argument is not drastically altered by the deletion of lines 194-195. These words reaffirm the link Hermione sees between wealth and power/status, however, this correlation is made consistently throughout the scenes in which she is present. 293 Lloyd understands the sense of the line to be “and does Troy exceed Sparta in prosperity” (2005: 120- 121), which certainly contributes to our image of Hermione as an individual heavily concerned with wealth. The manuscript reading provided by the OCT is derived from Σ, which states τῇ εὐδαιμονίᾳ ὑπερβάλλει ἡ Φρυγῶν πόλις μείζων τὴν Λάκαιναν, but the line has been seen as problematic by commentators. Cf. Lloyd 2005 ad loc; Stevens 1971: 119-120. 294 Peleus will accuse Menelaus of the same offense three hundred lines later (581-582).

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this instance, it is evident that Andromache plainly has the stronger arguments. Given this fact, her failure to persuade her opponent demonstrates just how capably “power and self- interest may override the considerations of justice”.295 This is precisely the type of situation for which common laws are required, Theseus explains in his defense of democracy (Eur. Supp. 429-438):

οὐδὲν τυράννου δυσμενέστερον πόλει, ὅπου τὸ μὲν πρώτιστον οὐκ εἰσὶν νόμοι κοινοί, κρατεῖ δ’ εἷς τὸν νόμον κεκτημένος αὐτὸς παρ’ αὑτῷ· καὶ τόδ’ οὐκέτ’ ἔστ’ ἴσον. γεγραμμένων δὲ τῶν νόμων ὅ τ’ ἀσθενὴς ὁ πλούσιός τε τὴν δίκην ἴσην ἔχει, [ἔστιν δ’ ἐνισπεῖν τοῖσιν ἀσθενεστέροις τὸν εὐτυχοῦντα ταὔθ’, ὅταν κλύῃ κακῶς,] νικᾷ δ’ ὁ μείων τὸν μέγαν δίκαι’ ἔχων. τοὐλεύθερον δ’ ἐκεῖνο.

There is nothing more hostile to a city than a tyrant, where, first of all, there are no laws common to all, but one man holds sway, he himself holding the law in his own possession. And this here is no longer equal. But when the laws have been written down, the weak and the rich have equal rights, [and it is possible for the weaker to speak the same words to him who is more fortunate, whenever he is spoken ill of,] and the lesser man defeats the mighty if he has justice on his side. That is freedom.

It is under the rule of a tyrant that an individual of lesser status is unable to achieve justice, or at the minimum a fair trial, against a wealthier opponent. Theseus’ speech also recalls the words of Pericles’ funeral oration when he describes the benefits offered by

Athens’ unique system of government: “in name [our government] is called a democracy on account of being administered in the interest not of the few but the many, […] there

295 Allan 2000: 129.

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are equal rights for all in private disputes in accordance with the laws” (Thuc. 2.37.1).296

In this passage, as throughout the epitaphios, the city of Athens is praised by means of implicit contrast with others, namely Sparta. It is generally the manner of comparison that signals to Pericles’ audience who this antithesis of Athens is and one’s suspicions are confirmed when the Spartans are at last named at 2.39.2. The implication of Pericles’ words, taken in connection with Theseus’ argument against tyranny, informs Hermione’s treatment of Andromache in their debate and reaffirms that she displays not only tyrannical, but, more pointedly, undemocratic, behaviour.

The Andromache’s ubiquitous references to family and marriage-ties make it an apt source for another quality commonly found in descriptions of tyrants, the distrust of philoi.297 The motivation behind the opening plot centers on Hermione’s suspicion of

Andromache and her fears that the Trojan slave will usurp her position as Neoptolemus’ wife (31f., 122f., 155f., 192f., 196f., 370f., 927f.). Kyriakou speculates that Hermione is less consumed by jealousy at the sexual relationship between Andromache and

Neoptolemus than she is concerned about her social position and the possible loss of her privileged status in the household.298 Andromache explains that the reason Hermione intends to put her to death is because she suspects that Andromache wishes “to cast her forcefully from her bed and to abide in her home instead of her” (34-35). Less than ten

296 καὶ ὄνομα μὲν διὰ τὸ μὴ ἐς ὀλίγους ἀλλ’ ἐς πλείονας οἰκεῖν δημοκρατία κέκληται, μέτεστι δὲ κατὰ μὲν τοὺς νόμους πρὸς τὰ ἴδια διάφορα πᾶσι τὸ ἴσον. 297 Although Hermione’s relationship with Andromache does not adhere to the traditional definitions of who are considered philoi, both nevertheless were members of Neoptolemus’ oikos. Belfiore observes that Hermione’s attempted murder of her husband’s philoi lacks charis, which is required in civilized society and to treat philoi as enemies goes against the necessary foundations of a just and pious society (2000: 100). Cf. Andr. 491. 298 Kyriakou 1997: 14.

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lines into her first appearance, Hermione herself confirms Andromache’s statement, repeating a similar phrase (155-157):

σὺ δ᾽ οὖσα δούλη καὶ δορίκτητος γυνὴ δόμους κατασχεῖν ἐκβαλοῦσ᾽ ἡμᾶς θέλεις τούσδε.

But although you are a slave woman, won by the spear, you mean to throw me out of this house and occupy it.

The verbs that Euripides places in the mouth of Andromache and Hermione contain insinuations of political unrest. The first, ἐκβάλλω, may be used to express the action of deposing or casting someone out of his or her seat of power.299 On the other hand, κατέχω may be employed to describe when a person occupies or takes possession of something and is commonly applied in such circumstances to rulers.300 Sara Forsdyke argues that analysis of the employment of the word κατέχειν in Herodotus’ Histories and Athenian literature reveals that the Athenians used the verb to describe “the forceful subjection of a people by a tyrant” and that it was “associated with Athenian ideas about the weakness of societies ruled by a tyrant in contrast to the strength of free societies with a democratic

299 LSJ A.5. For example, ἐπεὶ τάχιστ᾽ ἤρξαντο δαίμονες χόλου στάσις τ᾽ ἐν ἀλλήλοισιν ὠροθύνετο, οἱ μὲν θέλοντες ἐκβαλεῖν ἕδρας Κρόνον, ὡς Ζεὺς ἀνάσσοι δῆθεν, οἱ δὲ τοὔμπαλιν σπεύδοντες, ὡς Ζεὺς μήποτ᾽ ἄρξειν θεῶν (‘as soon as the gods began their wrath and dissent was stirred up among them, some wishing to depose Cronos, in order that Zeus in truth might hold sway, and others eagerly seeking the opposite, that Zeus never rule the gods’, Aesch. PB. 201-205); ἦ μὴν Ζεύς, καίπερ αὐθάδης φρενῶν, ἔσται ταπεινός, οἶον ἐξαρτύεται γάμον γαμεῖν, ὅς αὐτὸν ἐκ τυραννίδος θρόνων τ᾽ ἄιστον ἐκβαλεῖ (‘yes, truly, Zeus, even though stubborn of mind, will yet be humbled, as he is getting himself ready to marry, a marriage which cast him, never to be seen, from his tyranny and throne’, Aesch. PB. 907-910); καὶ μή με πλούτου τοῦ παρόντος εἴ τινες δόλοισι βουλεύουσιν ἐκβαλεῖν, ἐφῇς (‘if anyone is plotting in deceit to cast me out from my present riches, do not allow them’, Soph. El. 648-649). 300 LSJ II. Andromache repeats the usage back to Hermione fifty lines later at 196-198, asking incredulously, ἢ τῳ νέῳ τε καὶ σφριγῶντι σώματι πόλεως τε μεγέθει καὶ φίλοις ἐπηρμένη οἶκον κατασχεῖν τὸν σὸν ἀντὶ σοῦ θέλω (‘or is it that, roused by youth and a body in full health, by the greatness of my city and by friends, I intend to possess your home instead of you?’).

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political system”.301 That Euripides places this verb in the mouth of the Spartan

Hermione in an allegation against the Trojan Andromache can be seen as working in two ways. First, Andromache’s ‘barbarian’ status would remind the audience of the customary behavior of barbarian tyrant-figures. Yet as with the other accusations

Hermione makes against Andromache, the audience would quite plausibly see that it was

Hermione herself who was playing the part of the barbarian tyrant and not Andromache.

In this way, the use of these two verbs in this context contributes to an image of

Andromache as a perceived threat, not simply in terms of the immediate domestic situation, but also to Hermione’s social standing.

Hermione, for her part, certainly displays a great deal of mistrust and paranoia, but Menelaus, too, exhibits improper behaviour in his interactions with those who are his philoi. It is said that Menelaus has come to Pharsalia for the sole purpose of assisting his daughter in her quarrel against Andromache (40-42, 370-371, 677). By meddling in the affairs of another family, albeit one to which he is connected by marriage, he is effectively demonstrating his distrust that Peleus and Neoptolemus can handle the situation appropriately and manage their household.302 He argues that his interference is justifiable, basing his right to get involved on the proper operation of the relationship between philoi, and maintaining that, “what’s mine is his, and what’s his is mine” (585).

Significantly, Peleus does not challenge the principle of this assertion, but he does object to Menelaus’ exploitation of his position as an in-law and the privileges that come with

301 Forsdyke 2001: 331-332. She goes on to suggest that the verb seemed to work as “part of the ideologically charged set of terms and concepts that were used to evoke the contrast between tyrant and democracy” (ibid., 333). 302 For a more detailed interpretation of Menelaus’ interference at Pharsalia, see below, Chapter 5.

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it.303 Menelaus’ abuse of a right that is derived entirely from the ties of philia, thus reflects a disregard for his kin, and effectively, his lack of reverence for the Hellenic institution.304

Even Menelaus’ direct blood relations accuse him of betrayal. After Peleus thwarts his attempt to murder Andromache and her child, Menelaus retreats to Sparta, leaving his daughter behind to face the consequences of her actions. She laments that he has abandoned her with no means of escape and has given her up to certain death at the hands of Neoptolemus once he returns from Delphi (854-857). Orestes, too, censures

Menelaus for preventing his marriage to Hermione. He accuses him of wickedness and baseness of character (κάκῃ), for first promising Hermione to him as wife, and later reneging on his pledge, vowing to give her to Neoptolemus if he would sack Troy (966-

970).305 Eustathius’ summary of Sophocles’ Hermione tells us that it was Tyndareus, not

Menelaus, who promised Hermione to Orestes.306 Euripides, however, alters this detail in order to emphasize the deceitful characterization of Menelaus. Once again, Menelaus’ behaviour toward his kin demonstrates that his actions are primarily motivated by self-

303 Phillippo 1995: 361. 304 Peleus reproaches another Spartan, Helen, for demonstrating a lack of respect for the principles of philia when she fled with Paris to Troy, in the process abandoning both her home and Zeus Philios (603). By means of the allusion to Zeus in his role as the patron god “of friendship and family affections”, Peleus emphasizes the connection between Helen’s actions and the bonds of philia (Stevens 1971 169; cf. Parker 1996: 241). On this note, Lloyd observes that, “Paris’ elopement with Helen is more often seen as an offence against Zeus Xenios, the god of hospitality (e.g. A. Ag. 61-62), but Peleus is concerned here to stress Helen’s crime rather than Paris’” (2005: 143). Stevens, too, adds that the reference is intended “to stress the ties, religious and natural, which Helen had broken” (1971: 169). 305 According to Sophocles’ Philoctetes, it was prophesied that the Greeks would not sack Troy without Neoptolemus (59-62; 343-347; 1335-42). Menelaus’ promise to wed his daughter to Neoptolemus seems here to have been given in order to help persuade the son of Achilles to join in the battle, thereby guaranteeing the Greeks, and the Atreidae, in particular, victory over Troy. 306 Eust. Od. 1479, 19 (TrGF IV. 192).

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interest. He is more than willing to say one thing at one time, but another at another time, depending on what will work to his benefit most.307

In its most extreme form, the distrust of philoi presents itself in the form of the killing of family members.308 Neither Menelaus nor Hermione go this far in the action of the play, but Euripides makes sure to bring up the sacrifice of Iphigenia. Peleus accuses the Spartan general of committing an outrage against his brother, Agamemnon, by ordering him to slaughter his own daughter (624-625). As the person giving orders,

Menelaus is named explicitly as the individual responsible for the decision to kill

Iphigenia, and in this way, seems to be guilty to some extent of familicide. Seaford likewise includes the isolation from close kin amongst the symptoms of distrust of philoi, as in the case of Antigone’s Creon, and also the abandonment of the principles of reciprocity commonly shared between allies and associates.309 Whatever form it manifested, the underlying cause of this suspicion was typically the precariousness of the tyrant’s power and the constant concern that those closest to him would seize it.

Consider, for example, Polycrates’ murder and exile of his own brothers, who initially helped him to obtain his tyranny but then, in his eyes, became obstacles to his absolute power (Hdt. 3.39).310 In Euripides’ Phoenician Women, Eteocles incites war and ultimately fights to the death against his brother Polyneices since he is unwilling to alternate sovereignty with him (499-567). “I will not give up this advantage [tyranny] to another rather than keep it for myself”, he tells his mother (507-508).

307 Cf. 451-452: οὐκ αἰσχροκερδεῖς, οὐ λέγοντες ἄλλα μὲν γλώσσῃ, φρονοῦντες δ᾽ ἄλλ᾽ ἐφευρίσκεσθ᾽ ἀεί (‘are you not always found to be greedy of gain, saying one thing with your tongue but thinking another?’). 308 Hermione attacks Andromache for the barbaric practice of kin-killing (173-176), though, ironically, in the play the only character who actually commits a form of familicide is Orestes, whose murder of his mother is recalled during his brief appearance on stage (971-981). 309 Seaford 2003: 99-100, 104-105. 310 ibid., 97.

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The same type of motivation lies behind Menelaus’ interference. Power and who is in possession of it are clearly fundamental concerns to Menelaus, as when he disputes his standing with Peleus, believing himself to be of a superior position.311 Although he claims that his intention was to protect the interests of both Hermione as well as

Neoptolemus, his behaviour is, in fact, based on a desire to undermine the relationship between his son-in-law and Andromache, thereby reinforcing the link between

Neoptolemus and his own household.312 In his retort to Peleus during their debate over the fate of Andromache, one of Menelaus’ points of contention is the question of who will rule after Neoptolemus. He demands of Peleus (663-666),

ἢν παῖς μὲν ἡμὴ μὴ τέκῃ, ταύτης δ᾽ ἄπο βλάστωσι παῖδες, τούσδε γῆς Φθιώτιδος στήσεις τυράννους, βάρβαροι δ᾽ ὄντες γένος Ἕλλησιν ἄρξουσ’;

If my daughter does not bear a child, but from this woman sons are born, will you set them up as kings over the land of Phthia, and will they, though barbarians by birth, rule over Greeks?

Menelaus represents his problem in terms of the dichotomy between Greek and barbarian, yet, given his predilection toward self-interest, one cannot help but wonder if, in reality, he is most concerned with the possibility that someone other than his immediate kin will assume leadership over Phthia. Thus, both Hermione and Menelaus exhibit behaviour that suggests they are concerned about losing their influential positions, be it in relation to the household and a husband or to another ruler and powerful city-

311 Cf. 579-580: τἄλλα τ᾽ οὐχ ἥσσων σέθεν καὶ τῆσδε πολλῷ κυριώτερος γεγώς (‘As for the rest, I am not inferior to you and have more authority by far over her’). 312 Phillippo 1995: 361. Allan comments that the true incentive behind Menelaus’ actions is a regard for Spartan power and his own self-interest (2000: 138).

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state. The treatment that each inflicts upon Andromache and her son is an indication of the extent to which they are willing to go in order to solidify their standing.

The most prominent of the tyrannical qualities found in the portrayal of Menelaus and Hermione is unquestionably the abuse of ritual, as both characters display disrespect for the sanctity of supplication. Besides the association with tyranny, the

Lacedaemonians’ abuses of ritual additionally relate directly to Sparta’s dedication to upholding Panhellenic customs. In contrast to the historical Spartans’ professed commitment to the maintenance of Greek nomoi, the Spartan characters in the

Andromache are repeatedly depicted as violating these very customs. Hermione berates

Andromache for her supposed barbarian customs, while at the same time disregarding this important Greek nomos (173-176). With utter disregard for the practices of supplication and the retribution of the gods, she exclaims, “I shall keep you from carrying out your plan: the house of the Nereid here will not help you at all, not the altar nor the shrine, but you will die” (160-162). When Andromache refuses to abandon Thetis’ shrine, Hermione switches to direct threats of violence, claiming she will set her on fire, in spite of her suppliant status (257, 259). Not even Andromache’s admonition of

Hermione’s behaviour before the statue of Thetis deters her. So strong are Hermione’s suspicions that she threatens she has ways of making Andromache give up her position so that she may have her revenge (261-268).

Menelaus’ dealings with Andromache raise many of the same issues that are introduced in the first episode with Hermione. Like his daughter before him, Menelaus’

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first lines upon entering expose his true nature (309-318).313 He arrives bringing

Andromache’s son, whom she sent away to safety, and delivers an ultimatum. She must choose to abandon her suppliant position, or else her son will be murdered in her place.

Disregarding the customary reverence for the gods and their shrines, Menelaus boasts of his superiority, claiming, “you confidently expected that this image of the goddess would save you and that those who hid your son would save him. But you have been found, woman, to be less cunning than Menelaus here” (311-313). Menelaus’ declarations accuse Andromache of committing a number of stealthy acts and perpetrating wrongs

(λάθρᾳ, ὑπεξέθου314, κρύψαντας, ἁμαρτίας, ἁμαρτάνεις), yet it is he who behaves impiously and displays deceitfulness.315 As soon as Andromache acquiesces and steps away from the shrine, Menelaus reveals his deception. He proudly declares (427-430):

ἔχω σ᾽· ἵν’ ἁγνὸν βωμὸν ἐκλίποις θεᾶς, προύτεινα παιδὸς θάνατον, ᾧ σ᾽ ὑπήγαγον ἐς χεῖρας ἐλθεῖν τὰς ἐμὰς ἐπὶ σφαγήν. καὶ τἀμφὶ σοῦ μὲν ὧδ᾽ ἔχοντ᾽ ἐπίστασο. τὰ δ᾽ ἀμφὶ παιδὸς τοῦδε παῖς ἐμὴ κρινεῖ, ἤν τε κτανεῖν νιν ἤν τε μὴ κτανεῖν θέλῃ.

I’ve got you! In order that you leave the holy altar of the goddess, I threatened the death of your child, by means of which I led you on to fall into my control towards your slaughter. Know this is how things stand concerning you. As for your son, my child will decide whether she wishes to kill him or not to kill him.

313 Stevens views the primary function of this episode as demonstrating the “unscrupulous and ruthless brutality” of Menelaus (1971: 134). 314 Although ὑπεκτίθεμαι is translated as “to bring to a place of safety”, the prefix ὑπο- occasionally has undertones of secrecy. LSJ F.III defines ὑπο- as ‘underhand, secretly’, as in the examples ὑποθέω, ὑποθωπεύω, ὑποκορίζομαι, and ὑπόρνυμι. 315 Andromache will soon declare all Spartans δόλια βουλευτήρια, ψευδῶν ἄνακτες, μηχανορράφοι κακῶν ἑλικτὰ κοὐδὲν ὑγιές, ἀλλὰ πᾶν πέριξ φρονοῦντες (‘deceitful counsellors, lords of lies, craft schemers of evils – thinking thoughts that are twisted, rotten, and torturous’, 446-449). Scholars have previously been too quick to judge this passage as mere invective against Sparta on account of the ongoing Peloponnesian War. These lines, I would argue, contribute to the tyrannical portrait of Hermione and Menelaus.

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Although of slave status, Andromache nevertheless still would have had certain rights as a suppliant. In fifth-century Greece, regulations regarding suppliant slaves, compared to the procedures and rules for free individuals, appear to have been rather systematized.

From the classical period onward, slaves were permitted to seek asylum in instances of harsh treatment from their masters. In such instances, the case of the slave would have been determined by a court presided over by magistrates.316

By using deceit to persuade Andromache to abandon the altar, Menelaus intentionally abuses the nomos relating to supplication. While neither he nor Hermione ultimately use physical force to remove Andromache, their betrayal is nevertheless improper, especially given Menelaus’ intention to follow through with his death sentence upon her desertion of the altar. Violations of asyla and the use of deceit in attempts to get around its procedures were not uncommon. In spite of this, historical sources always draw attention to the sacrilegious character of these actions, and view any misfortune to occur to the violator(s) as the manifestation of divine punishment.317 Menelaus’ actions were a breach of the sacred rights of supplication, and he knowingly violates them without regard for the consequences (439-440). When he describes his behaviour as revenge (338), Andromache reminds him that the gods are holy and will take their punishment on those who violate their religious laws. This, however, does not deter

Menelaus; he replies that he will endure their retribution whenever it comes, but will kill her all the same.

Such behaviour was condemned historically, even in extreme circumstances, such as wartime. The forceful removal of a suppliant from sanctuary was viewed as a theft of

316 Chaniotis 1996: 79-83. See also Naiden 2006: 177. 317 Chaniotis 1996: 70-71.

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divine property. As Chaniotis explains, the physical contact between the suppliant and the holy place integrates the individual into the sacredness of the location, thereby causing them to become property of the god.318 Even in instances when a suppliant did not have access to an altar or sanctuary, or was unable physically to touch the supplicandus, the

Greek custom of respecting suppliants and revering Zeus Hikesios were typically sufficient grounds that the suppliant’s request would, at the very least, be heard and considered. According to this reasoning, it was a common Greek practice to spare other

Greeks who supplicated on the battlefield.319 Thucydides censures Spartan behaviour, when in 427, after a two-year long siege, the Spartans executed all male Plataeans, despite the fact that they had supplicated for mercy. The Spartan decision was heavily influenced by the feelings of their allies, the Thebans, who, after the nighttime attack of

Plataea, had surrendered and supplicated for their protection. The Plataeans accepted, but soon after broke their promise and killed all of the men. The Thebans accused the

Plataeans of being violators of Greek nomoi, for which they believed they deserved to be put to death (Thuc 3.52-68). Similarly, after the battle of Delion the Athenians sought to recover the bodies of their dead. They formally supplicated the Boeotians for permission to do so only to be denied (Thuc. 4.97-99). No supplication of this sort is refused elsewhere in Thucydides.320 In both cases, the debated issue concerns whether the rejection of the suppliants’ pleas goes against traditional Greek nomoi. In the aftermath of these episodes, Naiden observes that a phrase uttered by the Thebans in the Plataean

Debate epitomizes a shift in the process of supplication thereafter: ‘for they will suffer

318 ibid., 66-67. Cf. Schlesinger 1933: 30-33, Gauthier 1972: 226, Mikalson 1991: 73 n. 16. 319 Naiden 2006: 212-216. 320 Orwin 1989: 233.

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under law, not stretching out their hands on the battlefield, as they tell it, but after an agreement to give themselves up for trial’ (ἔννομα γὰρ πείσονται καὶ οὐχὶ ἐκ μάχης

χεῖρας προϊσχόμενοι, ὥσπερ φασίν, ἀλλ’ ἀπὸ ξυμβάσεως ἐς δίκην σφᾶς αὐτοὺς

παραδόντες, Thuc. 3.67.5). From this time onward, we see that a suppliant who performed τὰ ἔννομα, a ‘legitimate’, or lawful supplication, ought to be successful, which is corroborated by several Attic inscriptions.321

Euripides employs this fundamental concern for religious customs in order to criticize Menelaus’ and Hermione’s character and conduct.322 Its impact on Sparta’s freedom propaganda is twofold. Not only does it contribute toward the characterization of the Lacedaemonians in the Andromache as tyrannical, but it also intimates Sparta’s assertions to uphold and defend Panhellenic nomoi, insinuating that these claims are false. As we have seen, the Spartans, since they had no legal right to intervene on behalf of Athens’ allies, legitimized their intervention on behalf of the allies by invoking the higher norms of Hellenic nomoi. The actions of Menelaus and Hermione, however, unmistakably violate Andromache’s rights as suppliant and breach the inviolability of the sanctuary of Thetis, behaviour which could have plausibly evoked for the audience the

Spartans’ treatment of their Plataean suppliants a few years prior.

Thus far we have looked at examples of the characterization of Menelaus and

Hermione that contradict Sparta’s declarations as prostates of Greece. The Spartans represented themselves as the liberators of the Hellenes in contrast to Athens, the polis

321 Naiden 2006: 174-175, 216. Cf. IG ii2 218, 276, 337; restored in IG ii2 336, 404, 502, due to the extant or partially preserved terms ἔννομα or ἱκετεύειν; supplied by Wilhelm in IG ii2 192, 211. It is worth noting that Ostwald, in his analysis of the Greek concept of nomos, observes a similar double connotation of ἔννομος as moral and legal, though he does not consider its connections to supplication (1969: 24-26). 322 Allan 2000: 244.

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tyrannos. However, the portrayal of Spartan characters in the Andromache reveals them to be more comparable to tyrants than good leaders.323 It is true that the allusions to tyranny in the Andromache are subtle. Indeed, it must be acknowledged that none of the eight instances of the terms τύραννος or τυραννικός in the tragedy are stated with any obvious negative connotation (translations of ‘king’ or ‘royal’ seem most appropriate in each instance).324 Yet if Kurt Raaflaub is correct in his assessment that “hints and allusions [to tyranny] would suffice to conjure up the whole picture and produce the expected reactions among the audience”, then it may be inferred that the description of

Hermione and Menelaus would have brought to mind in some viewers, at least, parallels to tyrannical practices.325

3.5: Spartan Self-Interest and ‘The Common Good’

Prior to the outbreak of the Peloponnesian War, the Spartans reasserted their previously held status as prostates of Greece under the pretense of coming to the aid of subjugated Hellenes. By declaring war against Athens, Sparta was believed by many to be acting on behalf of the interests of all Greeks. Despite proclaiming to take up the cause for ‘the common good’, it became increasingly clear that Sparta’s main priority was its own interests and that any benefits that happened to come about for the other Greeks were, in large part, incidental.

In 426 BCE, around the time of the production of the Andromache, Sparta founded the colony of Heraclea Trachinia, bordering the regions of Thessaly. The people

323 For the portrayal of Athens as tyrannical city, see Thuc. 1.122.3, 124.3. See also above, n. 262. 324 Cf. lines 3, 202, 204, 216, 303, 471, 665 and 882. 325 Raaflaub 2003: 71. He goes on to explain that, having been trained “for decades in the skills of recognizing political allusions, the Athenians would have picked up hints of tyranny much more frequently and easily than we suspect it” (ibid., 72).

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of Trachis and Doris had recently suffered badly in separate battles against a neighbouring tribe, the Oetaeans, and sent to Sparta requesting their aid. The

Lacedaemonians responded, it is said, ostensibly, on account of their desire to assist their fellow-Greeks, and also out of a sense of kinship, since Doris was the mother country of

Sparta.326 Yet instead of sending reinforcements, Sparta elected to establish its own colony at the preexisting site of Trachis. It is entirely possible that, while arranging the colonization of Heraclea, Sparta annexed land for the new settlers, divesting some of the original Trachinians of their property in the process and leading to the resentment of their liberators.327 Despite having completely taken over affairs at Trachis, Sparta nevertheless presented its intervention as a form of assistance to those in need.

The placement of Heraclea Trachinia, besides being important to the liberation program, offered additional advantages that could benefit Sparta in its war efforts.

Hornblower describes the decision to colonize Trachis as “a Spartan strategic initiative”.328 The settlement furnished Sparta with a tactical position from which it could prepare a fleet against Euboia and could prove to be a very useful point from which to continue onward into Thrace. The colonization was also plausibly considered to have been an intentional move to seize control of the Delphic Amphictiony, which was customarily managed by the Thessalians.329 Thus even before the implementation of the

326 Thuc. 3.92.1-4. The sincerity of Sparta’s claims to want to help the communities of Trachis and Doris can be debated. Andrewes calls the establishment of Heraclea in Trachis “a venture which shows that policies which had nothing to do with liberation might be adopted by the Spartan state” (1978: 96). 327 Andrewes 1978: 96 n. 15. That tension existed between original and new inhabitants seems likely given the Spartan decision to expel the remaining Trachinians after the end of the Peloponnesian War, when Sparta had reconquered the area (Andrewes 1978: 96 n. 15; cf. Diod. Sic. 14.38.4-5, later corrected in 82.7 and Polyaenus Strat. 2.21; Andrewes 1971: 222-3). 328 CT 1.501. 329 Allan 2000: 156. Cf. Westlake 1969: 29; CT 1.501-503; 1992: 182.

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plan to free the cities of Northern Greece, it is possible to see that Sparta had dual purposes for it in mind.

Two years later, in 424, the Spartans extended their efforts to liberate the

Chalcidice under the leadership of Brasidas. As Thucydides details, this expansion was one of the motivating factors for the establishment of the Spartan colony near Trachis.330

In order to reach the communities in the North, Sparta was required to travel through

Thessaly, whose people at the time were on friendly terms with Athens.331 Consequently, a station was needed closer to the Chalcidice to help facilitate the Lacedaemonians’ liberation of northern poleis by providing supplies and other assistance to the troops. The

Chalcidians, as well as various neighbouring cities, had previously sent secret appeals to the Peloponnese, asking for their assistance and protection from Athenian subjugation.332

Sparta, however, had not responded immediately, as is clear from the repeated explanations that Brasidas offers the Acanthians (Thuc. 4.85.2):

εἰ δὲ χρόνῳ ἐπήλθομεν, σφαλέντες τῆς ἀπὸ τοῦ ἐκεῖ πολέμου δόξης, ᾗ διὰ τάχους αὐτοὶ ἄνευ τοῦ ὑμετέρου κινδύνου ἠλπίσαμεν Ἀθηναίους καθαιρήσειν, μηδεὶς μεμφθῇ· νῦν γάρ, ὅτε παρέσχεν, ἀφιγμένοι καὶ μετὰ ὑμῶν πειρασόμεθα κατεργάζεσθαι αὐτούς.

If we have come belatedly, mistaken in our idea based on the war in our area, which led us to hope that we by ourselves, without risk to you, would quickly clear out the Athenians, let no one blame us. For now, when it became possible, we have arrived and with your help will try to overthrow them.

330 Thuc. 3.92-93. Cf. Diod. Sic. 12.59.3-5. 331 Thuc. 4.78.2. Forty years prior, in 462 BCE, Thessaly had formed an alliance with Athens (Thuc. 1.102.4), which was invoked upon the outbreak of the Peloponnesian War, when, in 431, the Thessalian cavalry fought alongside Athenian troops (Thuc. 2.22.3). Cf. Helly 1995: 233-240. See Chapter 4 on the relationship between Athens and Thessalian tribes. 332 Thuc. 4.79.

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Brasidas’ words present the delay in sending aid as a favour to the Acanthians, but

Thucydides’ account of Sparta’s incentive suggests a more disingenuous reason for its timing, which will be discussed shortly below.

To be sure, not all cities into which Sparta marched over the course of its campaign against Hellenic enslavement welcomed it willingly. Many who had not requested Sparta’s involvement ultimately acquiesced to threats of ‘compulsory liberation’ and received it out of fear or were compelled to submit to force.333 When addressing the Acanthians, who did not readily agree to an alliance with Sparta, Brasidas makes it very clear that Sparta would take whatever actions were necessary in order to serve the common good. He warns that his army will lay waste to their lands if they do not comply, and moreover, will be justified in doing so, so long as it will ensure that all

Greek nations are able to throw off the chains of slavery.334 Brasidas insists that the

Lacedaemonians are right to liberate Acanthus and others against their will, since they are acting for the good of one and all alike and their only wish is to put an end to Athenian imperialism.335

Altruistic language of this sort permeates Brasidas’ speech; the word ἐλευθερία and its cognates are referred to eight times over a mere three chapters.336 Nowhere does he mention the advantages that Sparta gained by securing the allegiance of ‘enslaved’

Greek city-states. For instance, under the pretext of autonomy for Hellenes, Sparta went

333 I borrow this phrasing from Raaflaub (2004: 198). Consider Hornblower’s observation on Brasidas’ speech: “the speech’s first main theme is liberation, and the second main theme is force” (CT 2.277). On Sparta’s enforced liberation, see Thuc. 4.84f, esp. 87.2f. For examples of Greek cities yielding to Sparta, see Thuc. 4.88, 104f., 108.2f., 110f., 120, 123. 334 Thuc. 4.87.2-3. Cf. 4.85.5: ὑμεῖς δὲ εἴ ἄλλο ἐν νῷ ἔχετε ἢ εἰ ἐναντιώσεσθε τῇ τε ὑμετέρᾳ αὑτῶν ἐλευθερίᾳ καὶ τῶν ἄλλων Ἑλλήνων, δεινὸν ἂν εἴη (‘Ιf you have any different intentions or are going to stand in the way of freedom for yourselves and the other Hellenes, it would be a terrible thing.’). 335 Thuc. 4.87.4-5. 336 On the use of repetition in Brasidas’ oration, see CT 2.276-286, esp. 277.

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about liberating smaller communities from their dependence upon or integration in various poleis only to bind them to itself by means of an alliance treaty. In such cases, as

Raaflaub points out, Spartan policy was “obviously intended to weaken those allies that were considered dangerous and unreliable, and hence primarily served Sparta’s own interests”.337 Instead, Brasidas speaks primarily of the benefits Sparta sought for the

Hellenes, namely, their freedom and independence – and the risks that it was undertaking on their behalf to acquire them.

Thucydides conjectures that there had been alternative reasons for sending an expedition into Northern Greece at that particular time in order to respond to the appeals of the Chalcidians. The Spartans ‘eagerly’ sent seven hundred helots along with Brasidas, we are told, being glad to have an excuse to send them out of the country.338 Perhaps more tellingly, Thucydides claims that the cities freed by Brasidas were intended to be used by Sparta as bargaining chips, as “places to give in return for what they hoped to recover,” whenever it wished to come to terms with Athens.339 After working to liberate the communities of the Chalcidice, therefore, Sparta was quick to give them up when the

337 Cf. Raaflaub 2004: 199. 338 Thuc. 4.80. Relations between Spartiates and helots had always been tense and Spartan citizens were continually fearful that the helots might revolt against them. For more on the role of the helot in Spartan society, see Cartledge 1991, Ducat 1990, Kennell 2011: 76-92, Luraghi 2009: 261-304, Luraghi and Alcock 2003, Talbert 1989. 339 Thuc. 4.81.2: τὸ τε γὰρ παραυτίκα ἑαυτὸν παραχὼν δίκαιον καὶ μέτριον ἐς τὰς πόλεις ἀπέστησε τὰ πολλά, τὰ δὲ προδοσίᾳ εἷλε τῶν χωρίων, ὥστε τοῖς Λακεδαιμονίοις γίγνεσθαι ξυμβαίνειν τε βουλομένοις, ὅπερ ἐποίησαν, ἀνταπόδοσιν καὶ ἀποδοχὴν χωρίων καὶ τοῦ πολέμου ἀπὸ τῆς Πελοποννήσου λώφησιν (‘For right away, by behaving justly and moderately toward the cities, he caused many to revolt and took other places with the help of treachery, with the result that the Lacedaemonians had the possibility of places to give in exchange when they wanted to make peace – as they eventually did – and also got a respite from warfare based in the Peloponnesos.’). Raaflaub is sympathetic to Thucydides’ account and sees this purpose as the actual intention behind the sending of Brasidas north (2004: 198 n. 155). Hornblower, against Raaflaub, is more skeptical: “[t]his is a nice example of a modern historian reasoning like [Thucydides], i.e. inferring motivation from results!” (CT 2.270-271, cf. 268-269). See also Lewis 1977: 69 n. 121 (with references to Brunt and de Ste Croix), who accounts for the difference between an intended result and a decision to capitalize on a consequential outcome.

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Peace of Nicias was struck with Athens in 421 BCE. According to the terms of their agreement, Sparta was required to return Amphipolis to the Athenians. Cities, such as

Scione, Torone and Sermyle, which Sparta had previously liberated, but had been reconquered or destroyed by Athens, and any others that were under Athenian control at the time, were ceded to Athens, to be dealt with in whatever way the Athenians saw fit.340

That the program of liberation was of secondary importance to Sparta’s designs for the war is evident by its actions over its course. A central aspect of the pledges that

Brasidas had made to the Greek cities which Sparta ‘freed’ was autonomy. Yet the freedom that Sparta promised came with strings attached. Instead of gaining independence by breaking with Athens, communities were expected to enter into alliance with the Spartans, trading one leader for another. As a part of their regained sovereignty,

Brasidas avowed, Sparta would not intervene in the internal affairs of each individual polis. This assurance quickly proved to be false.341 Military governors were installed initially in Amphipolis and Torone, a precursor to the harmosts later appointed in the final phase of the war. Oligarchies would also be established in several Achaean cities after the Peace of Nicias, often against democratic opposition from within the community.

Thus, despite its protestations that it had entered into war in order to liberate all

Greeks, Sparta would soon go back on its promises to its beneficiaries and reveal its reasons to be far more self-serving.342 Isocrates, writing some twenty-five years after the

340 Thuc. 5.18.5, 8. 341 Cf. Raaflaub 2004: 198-200. 342 As Raaflaub points out, nothing demonstrates the mendacity of the Spartans’ program of liberation as well as when, after Athens’ capitulation and the end of the Peloponnesian War, Sparta did not revoke the restrictions imposed upon the freedoms of former Athenian subjects (2004: 200).

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conclusion of the Peloponnesian War, censures Sparta for betraying its commitment to

Greek freedom. He reproaches the Spartans for delivering many Hellenes into bondage instead of freeing them, as they had sworn to do.343 Their greed, he contends, drove them to covet supremacy over land and sea. In order to achieve this, they were willing to negotiate a treaty with the enemy of Greece, the king of Persia, promising to hand over to him all Hellenes who dwelt along the Asiatic coastline in exchange for his friendship and support.344

The behaviour exhibited by Menelaus in the Andromache recalls the dishonesty and self-regard demonstrated by Sparta towards other Greek city-states during the war.

He disguises his true incentives for interfering in Neoptolemus’ private affairs and attempting to kill Andromache and her son, masking his actions as favours to his son-in- law and all of Greece. In fact, Menelaus’ habit of concealing what he is really thinking is one of the things for which Andromache censures him.345

Having been accused of attempting to commit dishonourable murder against

Andromache and her child, Menelaus defends his actions. He frames his conduct in terms of the ethics of retaliation, deeming his treatment of Andromache appropriate since she originates from Asia, a place where so many Greek lives were lost (648-654).346 It is his philosophy that leaving one’s enemies and the offspring of those enemies alive is pure folly (519-522). Menelaus conceives of the killing of Andromache and her son as though it is retributive justice for Greece and the damages she suffered during the war.

343 Isoc. 4 122-123. 344 Isoc. 12 103-104. 345 See above, n. 309. Cf. Hom. Il. 9.312-313: ἐχθρὸς γάρ μοι κεῖνος ὁμῶς Ἀΐδαο πύλῃσιν ὅς χ᾽ ἕτερον μὲν κεύθῃ ἐνὶ φρεσίν, ἄλλο δὲ εἴπῃ (‘for that man is hateful in my eyes, who, though he be at the gates of Hades, hides one thing in his heart, but speaks another’). 346 Cf. Allan 2000: 101.

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Moreover, his decision to kill the Trojans was prompted, so he claims, by foresight for both himself as well as Peleus and his family (660-661, 690).347 By means of their deaths,

Menelaus maintains that he can ensure that her barbarian children will not grow up to rule over Greeks as kings of Phthia (662-667). In alleging that his actions are undertaken out of foresight, Menelaus implies that he is taking care for the future and is considering what is best for everyone involved. Thus, the murder is once more portrayed as a favour to Neoptolemus and the Hellenes, motivated primarily by the interests of all Greece.

Paradoxically, in the very same speech that he had lamented the countless men who died at Troy, Menelaus goes so far as to contend that the Trojan War was a great service to the Hellenes, much in the same way as the Spartans represent the

Peloponnesian War as having been instigated chiefly as a benefit for all of Hellas. Yet when Peleus reproaches him for initiating the war for personal reasons, namely, to retrieve his runaway wife, which, as even Menelaus himself acknowledges, resulted in the loss of many Greek lives, Menelaus spins the accusations against him into advantages for Greece (680-684):

Ἑλένη δ᾽ ἐμόχθήσ᾽οὐχ ἑκοῦσ᾽ ἀλλ᾽ ἐκ θεῶν, καὶ τοῦτο πλεῖστον ὠφέλησεν Ἑλλάδα· ὅπλων γὰρ ὄντες καὶ μάχης ἀίστορες ἔβησαν ἐς τἀνδρεῖον· ἡ δ᾽ ὁμιλία πάντων βροτοῖσι γίγνεται διδάσκαλος.

Helen was troubled not of her own accord, but by the hand of the gods, and this was of the greatest service to Greece. For men, ignorant of weapons and battle,

347 Norwood notes that Menelaus ends his speech at 690 with the word, προμηθία, that seemingly sums up his attitude toward his actions. This foresight, is, of course, specifically for his own welfare, and as Menelaus himself designates it, his gain (1906: 87). Lloyd instead draws attention to the Spartan general’s use of the term as an appropriation of a political catchword that denoted rational conservatism (2005: 147).

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advanced to bravery. Association348 is the teacher of all things to mortals.

In his eyes, it is on account of the Trojan War that Greek men progressed to acts of bravery, which proved to be the greatest service to Greece. Peleus, however, interprets the war differently. In his response to Menelaus’ speech, he goes on a tirade against the

Hellenic custom that would see a general win the glory of a battle won by ordinary soldiers – and paid for with their lives.349 Victory is considered to belong not to those who toiled, but the general is given credit (693-705). Even if one does not understand his words as Lloyd does, as an attempt to downplay the Spartan general’s personal contributions to the war without disregarding it as a significant achievement, it remains clear that Peleus does not envision the campaign as the great benefit to all Greeks, as

Menelaus does, but he sees rather that a select few profited from it.350 Thus, as adamantly as Menelaus professes to have the best interests of others at heart, his declarations are exposed as deception. Allan sums it up nicely when he says that, “[Menelaus’] claim to be doing both Neoptolemus and Greece a favour [is] shown to be merely a front for petty revenge and self-aggrandizement”.351

Menelaus appears to be filled with disbelief at the resistance he encounters from

Peleus with regards to his supposedly well-intended intervention, just as Brasidas proclaims himself to be astonished when the Acanthians did not open the gates to himself

348 Cf. Stevens: “the relations between men, i.e. experience, here presumably with special reference to experience in battle; cf. ὁμιλεῖν in the sense of ‘join battle’” (1971: 178). 349 I disagree with Stevens’ observation that, although Peleus’ sentiments are ‘ostensibly’ provoked by boasts of Menelaus, “in fact in the speech to which Peleus is replying [Menelaus] hardly boasts at all” and that these lines are “not particularly appropriate to the context or the speaker” (1971: 178). To be sure, there seems to be a hint at the contemporary practices of Athenian generals, as Hesk has argued (2000: 79- 84). My contention is rather with the belief that the speech does not relate to the specific context of the scene. For more on the connection between this passage and Athenian generals, see below, Chapter 4.4. 350 Lloyd 2005: 147-148. 351 Allan 2000: 101.

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and his troops, welcoming them gladly.352 He is evidently bewildered that Peleus does not view Andromache in the same negative light as himself and he questions him about why has not already driven Andromache away or asked for his own assistance in the matter (650-651). Menelaus’ reaction toward this difference in opinion concerning someone whom he so clearly considers to be an enemy recalls the phrasing used by the

Spartans when dictating foreign policy to new allies. Xenophon, in a passage that likely contains a standard clause of Lacedaemonian alliance treaties, describes how Sparta stipulated that its new allies must “consider the same people friends and enemies as the

Lacedaemonians did”.353

One can perceive further similarities in the ways by which each Spartan general attempts to negotiate with his addressees. Both Menelaus and Brasidas declare that it is not their intention to act against their allies in a violent or forceful manner.354 In spite of these assertions, their words contain implications of aggression, if their comrades do not respond as they are instructed to do. Gomme interprets the repetitive use of the verbs

ἐπιέναι and ἐπιφέρειν in Brasidas’ words as suggestive of the veiled threat that his speech contains. The verbs in this context atypically convey positive connotations, translating as

‘come to the aid of’ and ‘bring to’, respectively. In almost all other instances in

Thucydides, however, they are used to denote actions of attacking and of inflicting or

352 Thuc. 4.85.3. 353 Xen. Hell. 2.2.20. Hamilton explains that this particular passage of Xenophon is the principal source for what most scholars believe to be an accurate and typical component of Spartan treaties (1979: 30 n. 16). 354 Menelaus: ἐγὼ δὲ πρὸς βίαν μὲν εἰς Φθίαν μολὼν οὔτ᾽ οὖν τι δράσω φλαῦρον οὔτε πείσομαι (I came to Phthia against my will, so neither will I do any mischief, nor shall I have any done to me, 730-731). Brasidas: αὐτός τε οὐκ ἐπὶ κακῷ, ἐλευθερώσει δὲ τῶν Ἑλλήνων παρελήλυθα […] καὶ ἅμα οὐχ ἵνα ξυμμάχους ὑμᾶς ἔχωμεν ἢ βίᾳ ἢ ἀπάτῃ προσλαβόντες (‘And for myself, I have come here not to hurt you but to free the Hellenes…and besides my object in coming is not to obtain your alliance by force or fraud’, Thuc. 4.86.1).

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imposing something unwanted.355 So too does Hornblower find in Brasidas’ address to the Acanthians an indirect warning of “what they are up against if they do not co- operate”.356

Commentators have debated the significance of Menelaus’ comment about a certain neighbouring polis prior to his exit. Some have thought that Argos was the intended subject of the allusion, given its falling out with Sparta in the late 420s and subsequent re-establishment of alliance with Athens.357 Scholars now generally see no need to identify a particular city. Instead, Lloyd rightly sees in these words a “veiled threat”, as Gomme and Hornblower identify in the speech of Brasidas, since they are addressed to Peleus, who rules over a city, which, in Menelaus’ eyes, was once a φίλη, but is now acting like an ἐχθρή.358 Without needing to say as much, Menelaus’ parting words enable him to imply exactly what sort of response the Phthians might anticipate from Sparta, should they not behave as Sparta expects of its allies.

The failure of Menelaus’ attempt to meddle in the private affairs of the Phthians brings to mind the fate of the Spartan colony of Heraclea in Trachis. The settlement,

Thucydides informs us, ultimately failed, in large part due to the hostility its inhabitants faced from the surrounding Thessalian communities.359 The Thessalians, being at that

355 HCT 3.555-556. 356 CT 2.278. It should be noted that in contrast to Menelaus’ use of veiled threats alone, Brasidas does go on to state quite explicitly that his army will lay waste to Acanthian lands if they do not comply with his wishes (Thuc. 4.87.2). Indeed, chapter 86 concludes with a statement expressing the preferability of violent over deceitful methods. 357 Stevens 1971: 183. He notes that Mantinea was another proposed allusion, though he considers it unlikely. 358 Lloyd 2005: 148-149. 359 He also includes the governors appointed by the Lacedaemonians amongst the chief causes of the demise of the settlement. Their harsh and often unjust administration of affairs alarmed the inhabitants, resulting in a diminished population, which thereby made it easier for their attackers to prevail against them (Thuc. 3.93.2).

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time the leading authority in those regions, feared that the new settlement would grow to become a great power that rivaled their own. For which reason, from the date of

Heraclea’s foundation, the tribes of Thessaly continually laid waste to and made war against the colonists, until eventually, in 420/19 BCE, they were victorious against the

Heracleots. On the dramatic stage, like his historical Lacedaemonian counterparts,

Menelaus comes to Phthia as an ally to his daughter, professing to be motivated chiefly by the bonds of kinship.360 Yet Peleus, too, vehemently objects to Spartan interference and at last succeeds in routing his adversary away from Pharsalus and back to Sparta, not in battle, but in a contest of words.

3.6: Summary

Leading up to the declaration of war in 431 BCE against Athens, Sparta, already the head of the so-called Peloponnesian League, refashioned itself once more as the prostates of Hellas. Taking on the role of representative of the poleis that had been subjugated by Athens, it declared the freedom of all Hellenes to be its incentive for instigating war. The program of liberation quickly became a tool by which Sparta persuaded other communities to join it and its cause. Over the course of events, however, it became clear that Sparta was also largely motivated to go to war with Athens by personal interest, perhaps not so as to acquire an empire of its own, but certainly to protect the security of its position as the chief power in the Peloponnese.361

The program of liberation, it has been argued, worked as a form of counterhegemony. Besides putting forward a critique of Athens’ rule, it offered to

360 Andr. 370-371. Cf. lines 40, 675-677. 361 Cf. Andrewes 1978.

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Spartan and Athenian allies alike an alternative worldview, one which seemed to incorporate their own values and interests. To be sure, as Fontana describes, the idea of a competition between disparate ideologies, or conceptions of the world, “is central to

Gramsci’s notion of hegemony and underpins his entire political and theoretical enterprise”.362 In response to the competing voice disseminated by the Spartans, Athens sought to mitigate further resistance by contesting the positive image that Sparta was promoting of itself, as well as the negative representation of Athenian hegemony that it had propagated. The plays of Euripides in particular can be seen to engage with contemporary ideas about hegemony. Whereas traditional suppliant drama may be interpreted to some extent as working to answer the criticisms launched against Athens’ rule, it has been suggested in this chapter that the Andromache reacts more specifically to claims Sparta makes with regard to its own leadership in its program of liberation.363

In marked contrast to the image that Sparta constructed for itself as the liberator of Hellas, the presentation of the Lacedaemonian characters in the Andromache demonstrates their duplicitous concern for self-interest, disregard for Panhellenic institutions and customs, and lack of concern for the general wellbeing of Greek citizens.

Yet, as with most Greek tragedies, a straightforward interpretation of the play is insufficient. As will be uncovered in Chapter 5, commentary on Athens’ own imperial policies and practices may also be inferred from this seemingly unambiguous condemnation of Spartan authority.

362 Fontana 2008: 97. 363 Cf. Tzanetou 2012.

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Chapter 4: The Andromache and Colonial Discourse

4.1: Introduction

I have previously discussed how, according to Gramsci’s theory, a successful hegemony is dependent upon the creation of a national-popular will, which is achieved either by persuading subordinates that they share the same values, convincing them that its interests are equally beneficial to both groups, or through the absorption of ideological elements belonging to the subordinate groups themselves. In Chapter 3, I applied this theory to a reading of the Andromache and argued that the ideological tenor of the play responds to the counterhegemonic voice propagated by Sparta through the refutation of the Spartans’ claims of dedication to Greek freedom and implicit demonstration of the

Athenians’ own suitability for leadership. Yet even though the Athenians strove to represent their leadership among Greeks as hegemony, it is undeniable that many of their allies and enemies alike gradually perceived that it had in effect become an empire. As a result, while Athenian hegemonic ideology attempts to elicit conformism from Athens’

‘allies’ and convince them that the city shares their values, Athenian literature equally betrays Athens’ imperial interests by exposing hints of colonial discourse in its writings.

In this chapter, we shift our attention to the Thessalian characters of the

Andromache. Close analysis of the characterization of Peleus and Neoptolemus within a framework of colonial discourse will reveal how their portrayal reflects the rhetorical strategies of appropriation and idealization. These modes of writing shape the presentation of the Thessalians in such a way as to contribute to what I have argued was a primary function of Athenian hegemonic ideology, namely, the endorsement and validation of Athens’ position of leadership amongst Greek cities. As we shall see, the

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figures of Peleus and Neoptolemus are identified with some of the basic values of the

Athenian democratic system. According to the principles of colonial discourse, the adoption of the ideals of the colonizer by subordinate group members may be interpreted as symbolic of their supposed approval of those same ideals. Consequently, it was also viewed as being indicative of their acquiescence to the domination imposed upon them by the ruling party. Yet as Spurr maintains, the recreation of an identity for the colonized, in our case, the Thessalians, within the context of the values of the ruling group, the

Athenians, necessarily becomes a “narcissistic” and “therapeutic” act on the part of the colonizer, which ultimately says more about the Athenians themselves than the

Thessalians.364

In order to underscore the effects of these rhetorical modes on the Thessalian characters, I first offer an overview of the modifications that Euripides makes to the traditional myths of his characters. Accounts about the Aeacidae (amongst whom Peleus,

Achilles, and Neoptolemus are included) dated back to Homer; consequently, different versions of their myths were known at the time of the production of the Andromache.

Euripides was able to pick and choose those aspects of their narratives which suited his purpose, creating original content as needed. Each decision, therefore, was intentional and ought to be taken into consideration in any investigation of the meaning of the tragedy. Before turning to closer analysis of the play, I begin this chapter with a brief outline of the concept of colonialism and the development of colonial discourse with the aim of establishing the theoretical foundation for my study.

364 Spurr 1993: 42. See also pp. 39-42.

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4.2: Colonial Discourse and Spurr’s Rhetorical Modes

The terms colonialism and imperialism are frequently applied interchangeably.

Loomba helpfully suggests differentiating between the two, not according to temporal considerations, but rather spatial. As she describes, imperialism is that which begins within the metropolis, or imperial country, in other words, that which produces domination and control. The result of this process, that is, what occurs within the colonized countries as consequence of imperial domination, is colonialism.365 Bernstein et al. offer similar clarification on the difference between imperialism and colonialism:

[w]hereas colonialism means direct rule of a people by a foreign state, imperialism refers to a general system of domination by a state (or states) of other states, regions or the whole world. Thus, political domination through colonialism is only one form this domination might take: imperialism also encompasses different kinds of indirect control.366

From these explanations, we may understand that Athenian domination would, perhaps more accurately, fall under the category of imperialism. The application of the words

‘direct rule’ to colonialism suggests a forcible takeover of land and appropriation of resources. In the case of the Thessalians, the relationship established between Athens and

Thessaly took on the form of an alliance. Yet we should not forget that Athens was also known to expel populations from their land and settle Athenians on the confiscated lands of other poleis (known as cleruchies).367

The concept of colonialism, of course, cannot be likened to Athenian imperialism absolutely. The above definitions do not account for the distinction between ancient and modern manifestations of these concepts. Indeed, Polly Low contemplates whether even

365 Loomba 2015: 28. 366 Bernstein and Thomas 1992: 179. 367 See, for example, Zelnick-Abramovitz 2004 with bibliography.

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the description of Athenian rule as “empire” may be too strong a label since it implies a level of direct political control and exploitation was foreign to the Greek world. It is true that the use of modern classifications may be problematic in the discussion of an ancient society. Nevertheless, she notes that a distinguishing feature of Athenian empire is its readiness to interfere in the domestic political activities of its subject-states, which, according to the above definitions, suggests an affinity toward imperialism.368 Nancy

Shumate explains that the application of these supposedly modern models to ancient powers works “if we turn our attention away from the particular social, political, and economic institutions of actual ‘nations’ and ‘empires’ in different periods (that is, the variations), and instead direct it to the rhetorical systems that have constructed national identities and represented and justified imperial projects, broadly defined”.369 Despite the differences inherent to modern and ancient imperial practices, she argues, many of the rhetorical and ideological approaches to the enactments of nationalism and imperialism remain the same.

The study of colonial discourse was itself first made popular by Edward Said with the publication of his monograph, Orientalism.370 Said’s approach was primarily influenced by Foucault’s theory of discourse and power, and more importantly for our purposes, Gramsci’s theory of hegemony. Foucault’s notion interprets discourse as a domain, which is rooted in human practices, institutions and actions, within which

368 Low 2008: 9, 114. 369 Shumate 2006: 12. She successfully applies rhetorical analysis of the discourses of nationalism, imperialism, and colonialism to the Roman empire as evidenced through the works of Horace, Tacitus, and Juvenal. For other discussions on the Roman empire and (post-)colonialism see Webster and Cooper 1996. 370 Said 1978. Cf. Loomba 2015: 63: “In many ways Said’s use of culture and knowledge to interrogate colonial power inaugurated colonial discourse studies”.

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language is used in particular ways.371 The analysis of discourse makes it possible to

“trace connections between the visible and the hidden, the dominant and the marginalized, ideas and institutions. It allows us to see how power works through

“language, literature, culture and the institutions which regulate our daily lives”.372 In

Orientalism, Said contends that the ‘study’ of the Orient “was ultimately a political vision of reality whose structure promoted a binary opposition between the familiar (Europe, the

West, “us”) and the strange (the Orient, the East, “them”).373 This opposition between self and other has become an incredibly significant aspect in the analysis of colonial discourse, though Said has been criticized for his overly static and monolithic conception of this dialectic. Thus, it is more widely acknowledged now that “the colonisers and colonized cannot represent neat binaries but are active in constructing each other”.374

In this way, we can see how Gramsci’s contention that hegemony involves the incorporation of the values and practices of the dominated (as opposed to the imposition of worldview of the ruling group) has become a central notion to the study of colonial rule. Loomba explains how language and literature must be seen as sites where opposing ideologies intersect and clash with one another.375 Literary texts do more than simply reflect dominant ideologies, they also “encode the tensions, complexities and nuances within colonial structure”.376 As a result, we see a need for constant negotiation between colonizer and colonized, just as identified in Gramsci’s notion of hegemony.

371 Foucault 1970. 372 Loomba 2015: 63. 373 Said 1978: 43. 374 Loomba 2015: 71. Cf. Vaughan 1994. 375 Recall, too, Gramsci’s notion of the war of position as synonymous with ideological struggle (see above, Chapter 1.2). 376 Loomba 2015: 82.

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David Spurr, in his Rhetoric of Empire, remarks that, “in speaking of the discourse of colonialism…the distinction [between colonialism and imperialism] tends to collapse, since the same basic principles of this discourse…also constitute the discourse of imperialism”.377 As he explains, colonialism is simply a subsection of imperialism; what is more, to demonstrate this point he looks to the establishment of colonies abroad by the Romans as playing a part in the larger designs of the empire. In keeping with this approach, although I frequently retain the use of the term ‘colonial discourse’ throughout this chapter to maintain a correlation with Spurr’s methodology, I nevertheless equally understand this label as pertaining to the imperial discourse of the Athenians.

Spurr identifies twelve ‘modes’ of writing about non-Western peoples in the rhetoric of colonial discourse.378 His approach is especially germane to our discussion since he treats colonial discourse as belonging to the forces of cultural hegemony, in that colonialism is maintained – unstably, one might add – in part by means of ideology and representation and seeks to establish its authority through the delineation of identity and difference.379 He goes on to explain that, “[m]embers of a colonizing class will insist on their radical difference from the colonized as a way of legitimizing their own position in the colonial community. But at the same time they will insist, paradoxically, on the colonized people’s essential identity with them”.380 This contradiction recalls the way in which a hegemonic group strives to promote itself as unique and best suited to lead, while

377 Spurr 1993: 5. 378 His complete list of rhetorical modes includes (in order): surveillance, appropriation, aestheticization, classification, debasement, negation, affirmation, idealization, insubstantiation, naturalization, eroticization, and resistance. 379 Spurr 1993: 6-7. Cf. Balandier 1963: esp. 34-35, whose definition of the colonial situation is reminiscent of a Marxist notion of hegemony, including a division of power based on economic qualifications (he even refers to the colonial situation as a state of ‘latent crisis’). 380 Spurr 1993: 7. This notion, the representation of the colonized ‘Other’ as “almost the same, but not quite” is what Bhabha refers to as an ‘ambivalence’ of colonial discourse (1994: 121-131, esp. 122).

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at the same time demonstrating with at least some level of plausibility that its interests and values are the same as those of the groups over which it rules.

Of his comprehensive list of rhetorical tropes, we will restrict our analysis in the present chapter to two: appropriation and idealization. Limiting the number of modes employed allows for more in-depth engagement with each method of writing, but, more significantly, both appropriation and idealization have considerable overlap with ideas that arise in Gramsci’s theory of hegemony. Other rhetorical modes identified by Spurr could certainly have also been incorporated into the present study. ‘Affirmation’, for example, is relevant to our larger focus on Athenian hegemonic discourse, especially as it responds to Sparta’s counterhegemonic ideology. Affirmation, according to Spurr, involves the rhetorical techniques of repetition and self-idealization, particularly in times of a crisis of authority, to justify the authority of those in control. This justification is frequently established through a demonstration of moral superiority. Another crucial component of affirmation is the way in which specific images are created for popular consumption in contemporary culture so that the principles of the governing ideology may be affirmed.381 One can easily perceive a connection between such a method of writing and the discourse and ideology represented in traditional Athenian suppliant plays, and other modes of Athenian panegyric, more generally. Recall Tzanetou’s argument that Athenian suppliant drama promoted an idealized image of the city as compassionate and generous toward suppliants and non-Athenians as a way of justifying possession of its empire.382 Since, however, in this study, we shift our focus away from

381 ibid., 109-110. 382 Consider, too, Mills’ assertion that the figure of Theseus in Athenian literature came to represent the idealized imperial Athens – largely through his ‘civilizing adventures’ in which he imparted the benefits of

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how Athenian hegemonic ideology influences the (re)presentation of Athenian characters on the dramatic stage and onto how it shapes the depiction of Athens’ rivals, the

Spartans, and its allies, the Thessalians, the rhetorical mode of affirmation becomes less immediately applicable to our current analysis.

Appropriation insists on the identification of the colonized (non-Western) peoples with the value system and ideals of the colonizing (Western) civilization. This effect echoes Gramsci’s observation that a dominant group will seek to convince subordinate groups to accept its views. One of the main incentives of such discourse is that it suggests the moral improvement of the colonized as a direct result of their participation in the colonial system. Deeply intertwined with the rhetoric of appropriation is our second category, idealization. Although the manner of idealization can vary according to historical circumstances, what remains the same is that idealization always occurs in relation to Western culture. In this way, idealization typically facilitates a dialogue with the self and serves as an exercise in self-examination for the colonizer. Using the example of American intervention in Vietnam, Spurr illustrates how Ngo Dinh Diem, and through him South Vietnam, was initially identified by the American media as the personification of democratic ideals, followed some years later by a reversal and redefinition of North Vietnam and Ho Chi Minh as the embodiment of American ideals.

American reports of the regimes are couched in the language of Western democracy. An image of America was sought in the Vietnamese leaders; so, President Diem may be referred to as an ‘authentic patriot’ and, after him, Ho Chi Minh touted as the ‘George

Athenian civilization to all (1997, see esp. ch. 2), or Loraux’s description of the Athenians as being “under the spell of an ideality” once “the abstraction of Athens [as presented by the epitaphioi] prevails over the Athenians” (1986: 263-264).

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Washington of his country’.383 In either case, Spurr stresses, “this mode of interpretation became an unconscious act of self-reflection, a commentary on the real meaning of

America. The successive idealizations of Vietnam said more about American virtues and

American values than about anything Vietnamese”.384 To this effect, what each of these shifting representations did, ultimately, was create an image of Vietnam that would

“render [it] appropriate to American interest”.385

Thus, as we have seen that the image of Sparta in Athenian literature was, in a sense, appropriated by Athens, so too can it be argued that the images of the Thessalian characters in the Andromache were appropriated to serve Athenian interests.386 One could argue that many of the values attributed to Peleus in the play were ones that would have been shared by Athenians and Thessalians alike. The emphasis placed on these shared ideals can, and should, I would argue, be seen as constitutive of Athenian hegemonic ideology and the formation of a national-popular will. Then again, the Molossians, who are named in the play as the clear descendants of Peleus and Neoptolemus, were viewed by many Greeks, including Thucydides, as barbarian.387 Such a label strengthens the

383 Spurr 1993: 36-39. 384 ibid., 125. 385 ibid., 36. 386 On Sparta, see Chapter 3. Cf. Millender 1996. 387 Cf. Thuc. 2.80.5-6. It is true that the Thessalians are clearly considered civilized Greeks, nevertheless one can still argue, as Taplin has suggested (see below, n. 488), that Athens may have wanted to suggest to the Thessalian and other allies, that they should desire to be affiliated still further with Athens and the everything that the city represented. The association of Thessalians in the Andromache with Athenian and democratic characteristics is also reflective of contemporary thought surrounding the concept of identity. Around this time new ideas about Greek identity, how it was defined and who qualified as ‘Greek’, were circulating in the Greek world (Hall 2002). The timing cannot have been coincidental, as Athens played a predominant role in the development of the new conception of Greek identity. Central to this construction was the consideration of cultural rather than ethnic determinants. As a result, the identification of similar beliefs and morals contributed to a sense of shared identity. According to this definition, those who did not possess the same values may be viewed as members of a ‘different’ group. This construction of Greek identity worked in tandem with the Athenian ideology of the fifth century to promote Athens’ hegemonic

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argument that these figures are appropriated by Athenian discourse and subsequently characterized as exemplifying traditionally Greek qualities. In fact, some of the opinions of the Thessalian characters appear to go beyond the values common to all Greeks and more strongly reflect particularly Athenian and democratic ideals. I suggest that this aspect of Peleus’ and Neoptolemus’ portrayal should be interpreted equally as contributing to the interests of Athenian imperialism. This chapter, therefore, sets out to examine how the representation of Thessalians in the Andromache played a role in

Athenian imperial discourse.

4.3: The Andromache and the Mythic Tradition

Before turning to our examination into how Andromache exemplifies Spurr’s notion of rhetorical modes of writing, it will be helpful to touch on the innovations

Euripides makes to the traditional stories and depictions of his characters, in order to highlight the uniqueness and significance of these changes to his dramatic purpose.

Euripides weaves together various aspects of the mythic tradition concerning the main characters of the Andromache and adapts them to his dramatic purpose.388 The marriage of Hermione and Neoptolemus dates as far back as the Odyssey. Telemachus is said to have arrived in Sparta and found Menelaus celebrating the wedding of his daughter to the son of Achilles (4.3-4). The enslavement of Andromache in the household of

Neoptolemus is also known from the epic cycle.389 The betrothal of Orestes and

position within the Greek world and may be considered as a secondary rationale for the representation of Thessalian characters in the Andromache. 388 See Allan (2000: ch. 2) for a detailed examination of Euripides’ treatment of the myths. Sommerstein also provides a thorough list of sources, texts, and testimonia which touched on the myths, although his discussion deals more prominently with the mythological threads concerning Neoptolemus, Hermione, and Orestes (2006: 1-40). 389 See the scholia to Andr. 24.

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Hermione features in the poetry of Sophocles, Philocles, and Theognis.390 So too is

Neoptolemus’ visit to, and subsequent death at, Delphi mentioned in several literary sources.391 Thus, in crafting his own version of the story, Euripides borrows aspects from the central myths of his characters that would have been familiar to his audience and combines them in such a way as to draw out new issues from the layers of complexity between the three separate households.

As Allan concludes at the end of his chapter on the mythic tradition and the

Andromache, “the greater part of the Andromache has, it seems, been freely invented by

Euripides to fashion for the play an effective tragic shape”.392 Two of these changes are of particular interest for our present purposes: Euripides’ incorporation of figures from various episodes of the Aeacidae mythic tradition and the rehabilitation of Neoptolemus.

Euripides’ version of the myth is most likely original in the way it combines the story of

Andromache, the concubine, with the narrative of Hermione, the wife.393 The inclusion of

Peleus in the action of the drama is also previously unattested; there is no extant evidence that his involvement in the Neoptolemus-Hermione or Neoptolemus-Andromache plots existed prior to the Andromache.394 Although little is known of Sophocles’ Hermione,

Eustathius offers a brief summary of the drama in his commentary on the Odyssey.395 He describes the tragedy as depicting a love triangle between Hermione, Neoptolemus, and

390 Soph. Herm. The scholiast on Andr. 32 references Hermione’s betrothal to Orestes in Philocles and Theognis (cf. TrGF I. 24 F 2, 28 F 2). 391 Eur. Or.; Pind. Nem. 7., Pae. 6; Soph. Herm. 392 Allan 2000: 36. Other elements include the rehabilitation of the character of Neoptolemus, the involvement of Orestes in the death of Neoptolemus, and the negative portrayals of Menelaus and Hermione, all of which will be touched upon below, Chapter 4.7. 393 Cf. Conacher 1970: 167-168. 394 Allan 2000: 19-20. 395 Only two extant fragments (fr. 202 and 203) are ascribed with any level of certainty to Sophocles’ Hermione, one of which is a single word. Cf. Radt 1999; Sommerstein 2006. Lloyd-Jones does not include the latter in his Loeb edition of the fragments of Sophocles (2003).

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Orestes, but gives no indication for the involvement of either Andromache or Peleus, which lends support to the supposition that their inclusion to the story in this capacity is original to Euripides.396

Sommerstein has argued on more than one occasion for the identification of the

Hermione with Sophocles’ Phthiotides.397 It is unnecessary to go through the various points upon which Sommerstein bases his conclusion here; it is enough to focus on the aspects which concern innovations in Euripides’ Andromache, in particular the presence of Peleus. As with the Hermione, we possess very little information about the

Phthiotides: three fragments survive (694-696).398 In one fragment, a character, a self- described γέρον (old man) tells another male, “I shall lead you like a child, although we are both old men” (695). From this we can reasonably conclude that the play contained two elderly men, one of whom Sommerstein conjectures is Peleus. Although he is justifiably suspicious when he points out that in the ancient sources two of the three extant citations of the Phthiotides contain a corrupt play-title, Sommerstein’s contention that the details these fragments tell us about the play do not fit with any other Phthian story we can identify but do correspond with our knowledge of the Hermione is insufficient. A reference by Aristotle to a tragedy by the name Phthiotides makes clear that such a drama existed (Poet. 1456a1). Sommerstein accounts for this incongruity by drawing attention to the ‘frequent attestation’ for some plays to have alternative titles, yet

396 Allan 2000: 36. Cf. Eustathius on Odyssey 4.3. For additional testimonia on the myth of Neoptolemus and Hermione, particularly regarding the death of Neoptolemus at Delphi, see also Pherecydes FGrH III. F 64 = fr. 64 EGM (from schol. Eur. Or. 1655), FGrH III. F 63 = fr. 135A EGM (from schol. Eur. Or. 1654), and [Apollodorus] Epitome 6.13-14. Like Eustathius, neither one of these sources make mention of Andromache or Peleus. 397 Sommerstein 2006: 1-40 and 2010: 68-70. Torrance accepts Sommerstein’s proposal (2013: 191-206). Other scholars, such as Welcker, have suggested that Phthiotides is the same play as Sophocles’ Peleus, which Sommerstein rejects. 398 See Lloyd-Jones 2003; Radt 1999; Sommerstein 2006.

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there is no compelling evidence to support his hypothesis with regards to the

Hermione.399 His conclusion challenges the ancient evidence, which offers no proof of the involvement of Peleus in Sophocles’ Hermione, nor for the identification of the

Hermione and Phthiotides as one and the same. Indeed, Sommerstein asserts that although “there is no direct evidence at all in support of the conclusion that I shall be arguing for, […] the conclusion still, I would maintain, deserves to be accepted simply because every alternative to it can be ruled out”.400 I am not as certain that this is true.

Even if we were to concede that there is also no conclusive evidence to presume that the tragedies are distinct or that Peleus was not involved, Sommerstein also goes against the editions of Radt and Lloyd-Jones, who both list the Hermione and Phthiotides as separate plays.401 In summary, I find Sommerstein’s arguments to be conjectural and so follow

Allan in adhering to the extant evidence, which suggests that Sophocles’ Hermione contained no exploitation of Andromache or Peleus and that Euripides’ Andromache was very likely original in its integration of them in any meaningful way to the Neoptolemus-

Hermione story.

The transformation of Neoptolemus is, as Allan proposes, perhaps the ‘most radical reworking’ of traditional myths.402 The narrative of the epic cycle constructs a distinctively negative image of him, based largely on his murder of Priam at the altar of

399 Sommerstein 2010: 14. He does, however, admit that “in tragedy and satyr-drama double titles are much rarer [than in comedy] and are chronologically bunched” (2010: 18). 400 Sommerstein 2010: 65. 401 Radt 1999; Lloyd-Jones 2003. Sommerstein himself recounts how his initial chapter on the Hermione and Phthiotides “caused serious concern to the late Malcolm Willcock when he read the finished manuscript of the volume – so much so that he wanted [Sommerstein] to bury the play in the middle of the volume instead of placing it at the beginning” (2010: 67). 402 Cf. Allan 2000: 25.

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Zeus Herkeios and his hurling of Astyanax from the bulwarks of Troy.403 The overwhelmingly negative characterization of Neoptolemus is further substantiated by the impression offered in later artistic and literary sources. Of the extant vase-paintings showing Neoptolemus, “there are a multitude of depictions of all three murders [Priam,

Astyanax, and Polyxena] – in comparison, there are only a handful of representations of

Neoptolemus in any other connection whatsoever – and all emphasize their horror and brutality”.404 What is most significant about these crimes is that in the Andromache neither is explicitly attributed to Neoptolemus, despite Andromache’s direct mention of the death of her son (9-10). Indeed, Euripides’ silence on certain traditional aspects of

Neoptolemus’ story enhances the overall transformation of his character.405

The modifications that Euripides makes to the circumstances of Neoptolemus’ death contribute to his rehabilitation. In the prologue to the play, Andromache describes how the son of Achilles has travelled to Delphi to offer amends for his previously impious behavior toward Apollo, whom he blamed for the death of his father (49-55).

This second conciliatory visit to Delphi appears to be a fifth-century invention.406 What is more, there is a strong possibility that it was contrived by Euripides, as the Andromache is our earliest evidence for it. Euripides does not erase Neoptolemus’ initial trip, an act which, as Allan notes, has an important effect on how the audience responds to the

403 For Priam, see Iliup. 62.9-10 D; Il. Parv. fr. 17 D; Eur. Tro. 16-7, Hec. 23-4. For Astyanax, see Il. Parv. 20-1 D. Elsewhere the murder of Astyanax is attributed primarily to Odysseus (Iliup. 62.30 D and Eur. Tro. 721-5). 404 Most 1985: 162. See also Shapiro 1994: 163-166. 405 Cf. Allan 2000: 25-26. 406 The new idea of an additional visit to make amends differs slightly from Pindar’s second treatment of the death of Neoptolemus in Nemean 7, in contrast to his first in Paean 6, which offended the Aeginetans due to its unflattering portrayal of Neoptolemus. In Nem. 7, Pindar emphasizes the honourable purpose of the initial visit, saying that Neoptolemus went to Delphi in order to offer sacrifices to Apollo (40-41), which offsets any requirement of a second trip.

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implications of the second visit. The contrast between Neoptolemus’ traditional anger toward Apollo and his reformed behavior in the Andromache accentuates “the surprising novelty of the second trip and its conciliatory intent”.407

The pacific nature of Neoptolemus’ subsequent visit to Delphi also shapes the way we view the attack on him. Although earlier accounts describe the son of Achilles as dying at the hands of an assortment of assailants, they generally emphasize the culpability of Neoptolemus.408 Even Pindar’s more favourable treatment in Nemean 7 has

Neoptolemus entering into a dispute over sacrificial meat with an unidentified man, who ultimately kills him (41-2). As with many details of the plot of the Andromache, available evidence seems to suggest that Euripides is the first to incorporate Orestes’ involvement in the death of Neoptolemus at Delphi. By doing so, Euripides takes his rehabilitation of

Neoptolemus one step further than Pindar.409 The improvement of Neoptolemus corresponds to the vilification of the actions of Orestes, Apollo, and the Delphians, all of whom play a role in his murder. In this way, Euripides’ adaptations set up a contrast between a sympathetic depiction of Neoptolemus and an unsympathetic portrayal of

Orestes, the implications of which will be discussed in greater detail at the end of this chapter.

The incorporation of the characters of Peleus and Andromache and the transformation of Neoptolemus, therefore, were intentional choices on the part of

407 Cf. Allan 2000: 29-30. 408 Scholion 150a on Nem. 7 tells us that Paean 6 angered the Aeginetans for seemingly saying that Neoptolemus had gone to Delphi in order to rob the temple. The extant fragments of Paean 6 also emphasize the brutal behavior of Neoptolemus at Troy. Apollo, the poem states, killed him in retribution for his slaughter of Priam as he was quarreling with attendants over countless honours in the sanctuary at Delphi (105-122). See also Eur. Or. 1657, Soph. Herm. 409 In marked contrast to the direct liability of the Delphians in the Andromache, in Pindar’s Nemean 7, the ‘hospitable’ Delphians are described as being ‘exceedingly grieved’ by Neoptolemus’ death (43).

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Euripides. These modifications ought to be read in relation to the dramatic purpose of the play. In line with this view, Mendelsohn recalls the “developing consensus among scholars of tragedy that [adaptations of traditional myth] were often made specifically in order to render the tragic versions of the myths more efficient as vehicles for comment on, and critique of, contemporary Athenian civic ideology”.410 The same can be said of most, if not all, of the dramas from the Euripidean corpus whose traditional content

Euripides modifies. In his discussion on the Heracleidae and Suppliant Women, for example, Mendelsohn notes how little evidence for Athens’ involvement in either story exists prior to the fifth century. To some scholars, he notes, this has suggested that the versions of the stories upon which these plays were based “originated as instances of

‘political myth-making’: reacting to Sparta’s use of the myths of Heracles and his descendants to support its own political agenda, Athens began encouraging Athenocentric versions of these and other myths in order to promote its own interests”.411

To this effect, it has also been argued that Euripides’ Ion, for example, was largely influenced by the political climate of the years leading up to its production. The figure of Ion, having been of limited importance to Athenian history in the sixth century

BCE, was suddenly cast in a much more prominent role in the fifth century. Admittedly, almost nothing is known about Sophocles’ treatment of the myth in his Ion and Creusa, but, as Bremmer notes, there appear to be no parallels for Euripides’ version of the Ion story. He suggests that Euripides uses the myth to “proclaim the ancestral role of Athens

410 Mendelsohn 2002: 19. Similarly, Easterling remarks that all tragedians “devised ingenious and often subtle ways of suiting [the world created by the epic poets] to their contemporary purposes” (1985: 10). 411 Mendelsohn 2002: 14-15. Mills likewise discusses plays that are “shaped by the myth of the ideal Athens, but [that] focus primarily on themes which have nothing to do with Athens, whose role in them is apparently due to innovation by Athenian playwrights.” These plays, she argues, offer interesting examples of traditional myths being “reinvented in the ideal image of Athens” and acting as examples of “metaphorical Athenian expansionism in myth that was paralleled by Athenian political reality” (1997: 56).

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regarding the Ionians”.412 After the majority of Athenian allies, with the exception of

Samos, revolted in 412/11, Athens was faced with the necessity of reinforcing its ties with the Ionians. The changes depicted in Euripides’ Ion reflect the strengthened alliance between the Athenians and Ionians. Ion, whose Athenian origin is made explicit in the tragedy, is revealed to be the son of Apollo Patroos, the ancestor of all Ionians.413 In fact,

Euripides’ depiction of Athenians as autochthonous contributed to the image of the

Athenians as true Hellenes, the progenitors of not only the Ionians, but all Greeks, in contrast to the migrating Dorians, whom Herodotus refers to as the Hellenic tribe (1.56.2-

3). This claim enabled the Athenians to establish themselves within the Hellenic community as “the principal, exemplary and even constitutive and primary member of it”.414 Given these examples, it seems clear not only that Euripides repeatedly elected to adapt traditional myth in his tragedies as it suited his purpose but, moreover, that these modifications were used frequently as a catalyst for the discussion on and exploration of

Athenian ideology.

412 Bremmer 1997: 12. 413 Euripides was certainly not the first nor only author to represent the Athenians as autochthonous. At line 202 of Sophocles’ Ajax, Tecmessa addresses the chorus of Salaminians as “from the race of Erechtheids sprung from the earth”, emphasizing the identification of the Salaminians as autochthonous Athenians (see Scodel 2006: 65-78 for further discussion of autochthony and Athenian identity). Moreover, several Greek communities appear to have made claims of autochthony, although it is true that the Athenians were especially prominent in their exploitation of this claim during the fifth century. Herodotus 8.73.1 refers to the Arcadians and Cynourians as autochthonous. Pausanias also records a number of autochthonous origins: Phliasia (2.12.4), Laconia (3.1.1), Miletus (7.2.3). Others similarly emphasized strong connections with their natural environments. For instance, the Thebans’ descent from the teeth of the ‘earth-born’ dragon (Stesichorus fr. 195 PMGF; Pindar Pyth. 9.82-3, Isthm. 1.30, 7.10, Hymns 1.2) or the Aeginetans’ descent from the Myrmidons ([Hes.] fr. 205 M-W; [Apoll.] 3.12.6). 414 See Mitchell 2007: 85-92 on the purposes served by claiming autochthony with regards to Hellenic identity and Athenian supremacy. On Athens’ use of autochthony to assert their superiority over other Greek communities, see Loraux 1984. For the contrast between autochthonous Athenians and migrant Dorians, see Hornblower 2002: 127-129.

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4.4: Peleus as Democratic Athenian

At first glance, the portrayal of Peleus in many ways straightforwardly fulfills the role of savior customarily assumed by Athens in traditional suppliant drama. Certain aspects of the depiction of the Thessalian figures in the tragedy, however, arguably reveal latent imperialist tendencies of Athenian hegemonic ideology, as identified through an application of contemporary conceptions of colonial discourse. As we shall see, on more than one occasion, Peleus either himself expounds ideas more apropos to a member of the

Athenian democracy or is celebrated by the chorus in terms reminiscent of the Athenian civic funeral oration tradition. His grandson, Neoptolemus, though only appearing on stage as a corpse, is described by the messenger such that it recalls the pyrrhiche, the

Pyrrhic war dance. It is a Greek custom, to be sure, but one that possessed important connotations for the hoplitic ideal and Athenian self-perception more specifically. As we shall see, this description of Neoptolemus also recalls ideas and themes found in Pericles’ oration in the way that it contrasts Neoptolemus’ conduct with the anti-hoplitic behavior of Menelaus, just as the epitaphios sets up an ‘implicit agon’ between Athens and its adversary, Sparta. This characterization technique is not unique to the Andromache. As

Mills has argued, when Theseus is identified as a representative of Athens in tragedy,

“[h]e is consistently given characteristics which are considered as especially commendable in Athenian (and often Greek) thought, and such characteristics are usually marked as uniquely Athenian, by means of a contrast, sometimes implicit, sometimes

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absolutely explicit, between Theseus and the tragic representatives of other Greek cities”.415

If we return now to the Andromache, we find that Peleus, in his condemnation of

Menelaus and Hermione’s treatment of Andromache, takes issue with the sort of family into which Neoptolemus married. Despite the noble ancestry of both his own and

Menelaus’ family, Peleus criticizes Hermione as being κακῆς γυναικὸς πῶλον (‘the foal of a base woman’, 621). The idea that wealth does not presuppose goodness and honesty is repeated by Peleus several times throughout the drama. He goes on in the same speech to stress that “it is nobler for mortals to have acquired marriage connections and friends that are poor and chrēstos (‘good’) rather than kakos (‘base’) and rich” (639-641). That

Peleus, an aristocrat and royal himself, considers it better to ally oneself in marriage to someone who is poor but honest is suggestive of the changes to aristocratic values that were occurring at the time of the play’s performance in Athens. Ober discusses the democratization of birth privilege, particularly the concepts of eugeneia and kalokagathia, in the course of the fifth and fourth centuries.416 As he explains, high birth was “nationalized” and made “the common property of all citizens”.417 Once appropriated as an attribute available to the entire citizen body, wealth was no longer required as a precursor of this new signification of nobility, and so one’s character was considered to be of greater value than one’s affluence.

415 Mills 1997: 57. She goes on to describe such characteristics as wisdom, courage, piety, and generosity, among others (pp. 43-86, esp. 76). 416 See also Adkins’ important study on the durability of aristocratic values in the democratic assembly and law courts (1972: ch. 5). This theme is likewise connected to the status of Andromache’s child, who, mere lines before Peleus’ declaration, is described as a νόθος by Euripides (cf. 636). Despite the boy’s position, Peleus proclaims how bastards often are better than legitimate children (638). 417 Ober 1989: 260. See also pp. 248-292, esp. 259-270.

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Peleus’ words are paralleled by a speech of Lysias which dates to the early fourth century. The speaker, in discussing the character of his father, explains how, despite having the opportunity to marry a girl with a large dowry, he chose rather to marry the daughter of a man considered to be chrēstos in his private life and deemed worthy of leadership by the demos (19.14). Then, when it came time for the speaker’s father to marry off his daughters, he rejected the offers of very wealthy men (πάνυ πλουσίων), judging them to be ill-born (κάκιον γεγονέναι). He selected instead for his daughters first a man who was viewed by the masses as more noble (βελτίω) than wealthy

(πλουσιώτερον) and next a man who had fallen into poverty by no fault (οὐ διὰ κακίαν) of his own (19.15). As Ober notes, on more than one occasion in the speech of Lysias, it is the demos who is the judge of and authority on who possesses eugeneia. Men are considered noble because the masses have deemed it so, thereby forming a clear connection between high birth and the Athenian people.

Although the demos is not mentioned by Peleus as playing a role in the allocation of nobility in the Andromache, the similarities between the two speeches are evident, largely through their use of the same vocabulary. Menelaus is a prime example of the sort of man to whom the speaker’s father avoided marrying his daughter in our Lysian example and his family is precisely the sort with which Peleus regrets joining his own in marriage. Andromache, after accusing Menelaus of false and undeserved renown, highlights this resemblance when she says that many of those with a reputation for wisdom are in reality no different from everyone else, with the exception that they possess great wealth. Wealth, she concedes, holds great power (330-333).

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The importance of these ideas to the action of the play is confirmed by Peleus’ final words onstage. A mere five lines before the close of the drama, Peleus utters a closing commentary with a pair of questions (1279-1282):

κᾆτ’ οὐ γαμεῖν δῆτ’ ἔκ τε γενναίων χρεὼν δοῦναί τ’ ἐς ἐσθλούς, ὅστις εὖ βουλεύεται, κακῶν δὲ λέκτρων μὴ ’πιθυμίαν ἔχειν, μηδ’ εἰ ζαπλούτους οἴσεται φερνὰς δόμοις;

And so then, must not a man, whoever has good sense, marry a wife from a high-born family and give his daughter in marriage to the noble? And not desire a base marriage even if she brings a very rich dowry to the house?

The relationship between aristocratic values and Athenian democracy in the Andromache is accentuated through its recollection of the words of Pericles’ funeral oration. At 2.37.1, in his praise of Athens’ unique system of government and the qualities that set Athenians apart from other Greeks, Pericles draws attention to the ways in which democracy affords every citizen an equal opportunity to gain public honours (προτιμᾶται). In Athens, citizens are hindered in no way by lack of wealth (πενία) or high social standing

(ἀξιώτατος ἀφανία) but judged on their virtue (ἀρετή) and whether they are able to contribute some good (ἀγαθόν) to the city. Peleus, Lysias, and Pericles thus all contend that a man’s integrity does not necessarily correspond to his wealth and position and all maintain that affluence, or rather a lack thereof, should not bar a person from success in either his private or public life, if he has something to contribute.418

The democratic subversion – or appropriation – of old aristocratic ideals also plays an important part in the interpretation of the ode the chorus sings in response to

418 Hesk also observes a correlation between ideas expressed in the Andromache and Pericles’ funeral oration, although he draws attention only to Andromache’s words regarding the disparity between wealth and actual merit (2000: 77).

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Peleus’ rescue of Andromache. The song is laden with traditional aristocratic value terms, including ἀγαθός, εὐγενής, ἐσθλός, τιμά, κλέος, ἀρετά, and εὔκλεια.419 The praise the chorus heaps upon the Thessalian ruler is certainly appropriate to the immediate context of the play. Peleus is a king of the Heroic Age and as such possesses qualities that adhere to the heroic code: courage, nobility, and a desire for glory and honour, for instance. The specific deeds which the chorus extols – the Centauromachy, the Argo expedition, and the first Trojan War – are worthy exploits, too, of a Greek hero. Peleus’ participation in the defeat of the Centaurs speaks to his present defeat of sexual excess and violence.

Furthermore, the chorus’s praise of Peleus’ involvement in the first Trojan War stands in stark contrast with Menelaus’ own unheroic conduct during the second. The heroic- aristocratic viewpoint of the ode, as Allan calls it, forms an implicit comparison with the conduct of the Spartan characters in the play.420 The strophe on the merits of a just victory highlights this contrast especially poignantly. In the eyes of the chorus, “it is better to have an honourable victory than to overthrow justice through malice and force”

(779-780). The negative exemplum of an unjust victory acts as a foil to Peleus’ rightful defense of Andromache but simultaneously applies to Menelaus’ conduct in the preceding episode.421 The emphasis on his aristocratic excellence, however, does not undermine the identification of Peleus with certain Athenian democratic ideals elsewhere in the drama. As Ober emphasizes, the display of elite assets was still possible, permissible even, according to Athenian democracy, so long as these values were linked

419 ‘Well-born’ or ‘good’, ‘nobility’, ‘good’ or ‘noble’, ‘honour’, ‘glory’, ‘virtue’, and ‘renown’. 420 Allan 2000: 217-221. As he explains, the implicit criticism of Spartan behavior can be inferred from the gnomic phrases uttered by the chorus regarding justice and nobility. 421 Lloyd 2005: 151; Allan 2000: 218.

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to the public good, thereby assuring that the benefits of such aristocratic ideals were shared with the masses.422

When one considers the ode in connection with the democratization and nationalization of aristocratic values in the fifth century, introduced to the play first by

Peleus’ comments on marriage, its content further brings to mind the funeral oration tradition in Athens. The contrast between democratic and aristocratic terms with which

Pericles praises Athens’ constitution and character in his epitaphios has been a point of interest to scholars for decades.423 Loraux describes the funeral oration tradition as a

“eulogy of democracy” through “aristocratic representations”.424 She identifies an assortment of ways that democracy could be praised or ‘ennobled’ in the epitaphioi, including by depicting democracy as a consequence of eugeneia, noble birth, and by presenting aischyne, shame, and/or arete, virtue, as fundamental principles of the democratic constitution. While avoiding using the term ‘aristocracy’ outright, for example, Pericles instead names arete as the backbone of political life. Indeed, over the course of the twelve sections that his speech spans in Histories, Thucydides has Pericles use the word arete a total of twelve times. The concept of arete itself further corroborates the interweaving of hegemonic and imperial ideologies in both the funeral orations and

Andromache. In the eyes of Pericles, for instance, Athenian arche serves as proof of their arete (2.41.1-4).425 On the other hand, in his funeral speech, Lysias maintains that the

422 Ober 1989: 291-292. 423 Cf. Oliver 1955. 424 Loraux 1986: 180. 425 As Loraux and others have observed, the epitaphioi are careful not to describe Athenian imperialism in terms that are too strong. Words referring to Athens’ allies as subjects are strictly avoided. The Athenian empire is more commonly mentioned in passing and through ambiguous terminology such as arche.

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Athenians were granted leadership of Greece (ἡγεμόνες...τῆς Ἑλλάδος) by their comrades and enemies alike on account of this same excellence (τῆς ἑαυτῶν ἀρετῆς, 2.47).

Allan has already noted the resemblance between wording employed by the chorus in the ode and authors of the epitaphioi. In particular, he draws attention to the phrase sung at 773-774, οὔτοι λείψανα τῶν ἀγαθῶν ἀνδρῶν ἀφαιρεῖται χρόνος (‘time does not diminish the deeds of noble men’), calling it “a variation on a topos of funeral orations and epitaphs”.426 Similarly, the first strophe closes with a gnomic phrase that the excellence of noble men shines forth even after they are dead (ἁ δ’ἀρετὰ καὶ θανοῦσι

λάμπει, 775-776), a statement which Allan relates to the epinician poetry of Pindar. It is worth noting that Loraux’s analysis of the Athenian epitaphioi describes the tradition as working to remove “the celebration of valour from the aristocratic realm of the poet singing the virtues and exploits of an exceptional individual for the benefit of a selected crowd of aristocrats to create a new, somehow secularised and prosaic ἀρετή, that of the many, anonymous dead honoured by the orator in front of the whole of the city”.427 The chorus’ praise of Peleus, then, retains the older format of epinician panegyric appropriate to the heroic context of the play, while simultaneously incorporating newer, and more democratically inclined, ideas expressed in the epitaphioi and other fifth-century writings. In keeping with this argument, I would also point to the connection between the sentiment expressed by the chorus in the Andromache and the words of Pericles at 2.43.1, when he declares that the praises won by men who have given their lives to the city are ageless. The vocabulary used in each passage may differ, but the message that honour lasts indefinitely even after death is reiterated by both authors.

426 Allan 2000: 219. 427 Asmonti 2015: 73. Cf. Loraux 1986: 72-94.

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Perhaps the most obviously democratic section of Peleus’ speeches comes in his attack on the Greek custom concerning the praise of military generals.428 The relevance of his censure to the play is evident; both he and Andromache criticize Menelaus’ conduct during the expedition to Troy. He is characterized by them as cowardly and as a man who has falsely and unjustly received glory and reputation (319-332, 341, 454-459,

590-591, 610-618, 627-631). Although Peleus at first speaks broadly about generals throughout Greece, it is not hard to infer that he is thinking of Menelaus especially. He himself makes this clear a few lines into his diatribe, relating his generalized comments back to the son of Atreus with the words, “it is in this fashion that you and your brother sat puffed up over Troy and your generalship there” (703-704). Generals, Peleus bemoans, ought not to receive the credit for the actions of the army (693-702):

οἴμοι, καθ’ Ἑλλάδ’ ὡς κακῶς νομίζεται· ὅταν τροπαῖα πολεμίων στήσῃ στρατός, οὐ τῶν πονούντων τὄυργον ἡγοῦνται τόδε, ἀλλ’ ὁ στρατηγὸς τὴν δόκησιν ἄρνυται, ὃς εἷς μετ’ ἄλλων μυρίων πάλλων δόρυ, οὐδὲν πλέον δρῶν ἑνός, ἔχει πλείω λόγον. [σεμνοὶ δ’ ἐν ἀρχαῖς ἥμενοι κατὰ πτόλιν φρονοῦσι δήμου μεῖζον, ὄντες οὐδένες· οἱ δ’ εἰσὶν αὐτῶν μυρίῳ σοφώτεροι, εἰ τόλμα προσγένοιτο βούλησίς θ’ ἅμα.]

Oh, how bad is the custom in Greece! Whenever an army erects trophies over an enemy, people do not consider this the deed of those who toil. But instead the general receives the credit. He, who brandishing his spear as one amongst countless others and doing no more than a single man, gets more praise. [And sitting haughtily in office in the city they have grander thoughts than the common people, even though they are nobodies. The people are infinitely wiser than them

428 Stevens, for example, describes Peleus’ words as “democratic sentiments” (1971: 178).

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if at once they were to acquire daring and purpose.]429

Peleus’ assertions that the praise for victories in battle ought to belong to the army as a whole evoke what Loraux identifies in epitaphioi and epigrams as the “democratic desire for anonymity that excludes any special mention of the strategoi, even in a collective form”.430 A fourth-century speech by Aeschines demonstrates this point. Quoting an epigram of Eion, he explains that certain brave Athenians, after having conquered the

Medes in battle, were welcomed home and honoured by the demos with the erection of three stone Hermae in the Stoa, on the condition that “they not inscribe their own names, in order that the inscription might not seem to be for the generals, but for the people”

(Aeschin. 3 183).431 The collective nature of the funeral oration has long been accepted, leading to Bosworth’s description of “the collective, the city” as the centre of Pericles’ eulogy.432 Indeed, as we saw above, the epitaphioi are thought to have supplanted the aristocratic and individualistic character of epinician poetry, thereby shifting praise to the unnamed masses, an adjustment that is consistent with the egalitarian spirit of democracy.

While it is true that Euripides does not place any of the usual catchwords of democracy into the mouth of Peleus (isegoria, isonomia, or parrhesia, for example), he instead shrewdly manipulates the “usual clichés of antidemocratic thought” in his attack on the institution of the strategia, generalship, flipping these reproaches around on those individuals who traditionally hold power.433 A fitting example of the sorts of criticisms

429 Diggle’s OCT also brackets lines 699-702. 430 Loraux 1986: 55. 431 ἐφ’ ᾧτε μὴ ἐπιγράφειν τὸ ὄνομα τὸ ἑαυτῶν, ἵνα μὴ τῶν στρατηγῶν, ἀλλὰ τοῦ δήμου δοκῇ εἶναι τὸ ἐπίγραμμα. 432 Bosworth 2000: 4. See also Loraux 1986. This communal character is precisely what makes the epitaphios delivered by Adrastus in Euripides’ Suppliant Women of comparative interest. For more on the collective and democratic nature of Pericles’ Funeral Oration, see below, Chapter 4.5. 433 Cf. Loraux 1986: 216.

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commonly hurled against democracy can be found in the speech of the Theban herald in

Euripides’ Suppliant Women, believed to have been produced shortly after the

Andromache in 423 BCE. After Theseus has boasted that his city is free, ruled not by one man, but by the demos, the herald declares himself at an advantage, since his own city is under the control of a single man – not the mob. At Thebes, he continues, no one ‘puffs up’ (ἐκχαυνῶν) the people for private gain. The demos, surely, could never govern a city, since, even if the poor were able to educate themselves, they would nevertheless lack the ability to make good judgments (409-425).

We may perceive in these words an inversion of the very faults Peleus identifies in generals throughout Greece and in Agamemnon and Menelaus, in particular. He refers to the generals as semnoi, in the sense of proud or haughty, but whose verbal form translates as “to give oneself airs”. Similarly, the Atreidae brothers, he maintains, spent their generalship ‘puffed up’ over Troy (ἐξωγκωμένοι, 703-704), reaping the benefits of the work of others to their own advantage. The verbs used in each passage to indicate this haughty pride are admittedly different (ἐξογκόω compared to ἐκχαυνόω in the

Suppliants), nevertheless the implication is certainly the same.434 In the eyes of the herald, it is the masses who lack judgment and intelligence. Peleus, therefore, turns this common accusation around on the men who occupy positions of authority, pronouncing them to be worthless,435 and asserting that the demos is far superior to them in wisdom

434 It should be noted that the usage of ἐκχαυνόω in the Suppliant Women is our only example from extant literature. The verb ἐξογκόω, while somewhat more frequently attested, should still be considered an uncommon word, which further supports the significance of the correlation between the two terms in these passages. Curiously, roughly one fourth of the occurrences of ἐξογκόω can be found in Euripides, who uses the term in five of his tragedies (Orestes, Iphigenia in Aulis, Hippolytus, Suppliant Women, and Andromache). 435 The Theban herald uses this same phrase, ούδὲν ὣν, in reference to demagogues, the worthless or useless man who gains a reputation by beguiling the masses (424-425).

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(700-701). Loraux has previously commented upon the parallels between Pericles’ funeral speech and the eulogy of democracy uttered by Theseus in Euripides’ Suppliant

Women in his constitutional debate with the Theban herald.436 That Peleus’ speech contains associations with both of these strongly patriotic and pro-democratic passages supports our interpretation of these lines as conveying certain fundamental Athenian values. In this way, despite the lack of overtly democratic language that we find it

Euripides’ traditional ‘political’ plays, it may be reasonably argued that Peleus’ words have a discernably democratic tone.

Jon Hesk sees reference to the Athenian institution of generalships in Peleus’ comments on strategoi and both Andromache and Peleus’ opinions about leadership and reputation more broadly. According to one possible interpretation, Peleus’ criticism of the undeserved honours paid to strategoi, introduced as bad custom more generally throughout Greece, may have caused audience members to think about the presentation of Greek leadership depicted in Homeric epic. Hesk, however, further suggests that the use of the term strategos, which had specific connotations for an Athenian citizen, could have acted as a ‘zooming device’, prompting the audience to contemplate generalships as they applied to their own contemporary experiences.437 Such a verbal attack may have encouraged reflection on the institution of the strategia in Athens more specifically,

436 Cf. Loraux 1986: 206, 216. 437 On the term ‘zooming device’ and its counterpart ‘distancing device’, see Sourvinou-Inwood 1989; 2003: 22-50; 2005: 8-10. She argues that ‘distancing’ and ‘zooming’ devices were incorporated into tragic performances so that Athenian spectators could safely explore problems that affected them as citizens, such as religious practices. Distancing devices included the use of locations away from Athens and tyrannical statements that contrasted with Athens’ own democratic government. Conversely, zooming devices integrated aspects of contemporary Athenian life, such as the presentation of scenes of supplication, which could bring the tragic world closer to the Athenians’ own experiences. These devices can be particularly helpful in determining what possible effects the portrayal of Athenian and non-Athenian elements on the tragic stage had on the original audience(s).

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although Hesk acknowledges that even if the Athenian audience was compelled to think of contemporary leadership, they may have understood the phrase “throughout Greece” as signifying everywhere in Greece except for Athens, suggesting that such behaviour would never occur in democratic Athens.438

Yet I would argue that, even if the audience interpreted Peleus’ criticisms as reflective of Greek, but not Athenian, customs, it is nevertheless still possible to infer an

Athenian democratic ideal from this very assumption. For Peleus’ words to insinuate that such a thing could never happen in their city, it suggests that the opposite must be true in

Athens: generals are never favoured over their soldiers and every man is treated equally regardless of status. In this way, one might argue that, through his disparaging commentary, Peleus is still shown as adhering to a democratic ideal. Significantly, too, according to this second reading, Menelaus’ behaviour is evaluated in relation to a distinctively Athenian standard. In addition, then, to his more obvious portrayal as a duplicitous Spartan, as we have seen in Chapter 3 above, Menelaus is further characterized as decisively unAthenian. Accordingly, it is not only of importance that

Menelaus is assessed against an Athenian ideal but also that the words of the play ask the audience to reflect thoughtfully, critically even, upon their own institutions. This type of self-examination parallels the effects of the rhetoric of appropriation and idealization, as described by Spurr, an observation to which I will return shortly below. Although my own interpretation of Peleus’ speech does not exactly mirror Hesk’s views, I do believe

438 Hesk 2000: 77-84, esp. 80-81. As he explains, in fifth-century Athens, the strategia involved more than leadership on a military level. Often times they would speak before the assembly, offer input and advice regarding policy, and were involved with legislation. As with other elected positions, the conduct of generals during their appointment was subject to public review and public indictment, if the strategoi were deemed to have abused their power.

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that parts of the Andromache engage with contemporary issues, and, as we shall see in greater detail in the following chapter, that they do so in such a way as to cause the audience members to question the status quo. In contrast to Hesk, however, I will argue that these aspects further reveal the imperialist tendencies of Athenian rule and ask the audience to scrutinize their own position as rulers of an empire.

4.5: Neoptolemus and ‘The Hoplitic Ideal’

The depiction of Neoptolemus in the Andromache acts as yet another foil to that of Menelaus and correspondingly contributes to the dialogue with the self that is facilitated more broadly by the rhetoric of colonial discourse. Though he appears on stage as a corpse only, the messenger speech offers valuable insight into Euripides’ characterization of him. In contrast to his portrayal in earlier versions of the myth,

Euripides presents Neoptolemus in a much more flattering light. Similarly to our analysis of Peleus above, we shall see that this idealized image of Neoptolemus reflects Athenian values, serving both to endorse the Athenian way of life and to denounce Spartan nature simultaneously.

In examining the representation of deception in Classical Athens and its relationship to Athenian identity, Hesk focuses a significant part of his discussion on the opposition between hoplitic openness and non-hoplitic deceit, namely honest (Athenian) hoplites and tricky Spartans.439 Within this opposition, he identifies a further contrast between deception and appearances as being ‘culturally acquired’ unlike inborn or natural excellence. To this model, he applies an analysis of Menelaus’ construction as

439 Hesk’s application of this contrast is based on Vidal-Naquet’s analysis of the Apatouria, an Athenian ‘coming of age’ ceremony, and his posited antithesis (‘honest hoplite/tricky ephebe’). Cf. Vidal-Naquet 1986: ch. 5.

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Spartan ‘other’ against the Athenian ‘self’ in the Andromache.440 Admittedly, Hesk nowhere explicitly describes Neoptolemus as a representation of the Athenian ‘self’, preferring instead to use Menelaus as a negative reference point. As he himself explains, his examination concentrates mainly on the Andromache’s “negative constructions of

Spartan identity in terms of non-hoplitic deception”.441 Nevertheless, as part of this approach, he does make brief reference to a correlation between Neoptolemus’ characterization and hoplite identity, a role which helps to bring to the forefront the contrast between the values of the hoplite and the deceptions of Menelaus. It is this designation of Neoptolemus as hoplite, especially in the specifically Athenian sense, that

I would like to consider in greater detail now.

In his account of the death of Neoptolemus, the messenger explicitly refers to him as a ‘fearsome hoplite’ (1123), reclaiming the words with which Andromache had sarcastically described Menelaus in his attack on herself, a slave woman, and her child.

With this designation, Euripides artfully constructs an antithesis between Neoptolemus as true hoplite and Menelaus as false. Yet even where such overt language is not employed, the messenger speech, I suggest, constructs an image of Neoptolemus as hoplitic warrior, much in the same way that Pericles singles out Sparta only once by name in his funeral oration (2.39.2), even though his admonitions of the customs and habits of their

‘opponents’ (τῶν ἐναντίων, 2.39.1) are unmistakably intended to recall the

Lacedaemonians from the outset.

440 Hesk’s analysis is not limited to Menelaus alone. Rather, he considers the contrast of Spartan ‘other’ and Athenian ‘self’ in various formats, such as the antithesis between Hermione and Andromache as well. Due to its relevance to the current argument, I have restricted my application of his research to the hoplite/anti- hoplite opposition. 441 Hesk 2000: 77.

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In 1967 E.K. Borthwick first called attention to allusions in the messenger speech to the pyrrhiche, a Greek war dance, and the possible insinuation that Neoptolemus, i.e.

Pyrrhus, was its inventor. His interpretation was initially rejected by many scholars. It was not until Paola Ceccarelli accepted and endorsed Borthwick’s view, including his observations in her 1998 monograph on the pyrrhic dance in the Greco-Roman world, that this idea gained support. A 2012 article by Francis Cairns adds further suggestions to the references detected by both Borthwick and Ceccarelli and underscores the politico- cultural implications of Neoptolemus’s association with the invention of the pyrrhiche, a perspective that we will return to shortly. It is not necessary to go into an in-depth analysis of the text in order to support our reading of pyrrhic references in the messenger speech; others have well demonstrated the validity of such an approach. It will be of greater benefit to analyze the allusions identified by Borthwick, Ceccarelli, and Cairns, and discuss how they contribute to the ‘idealization’ of Neoptolemus in the Andromache as Athenian hoplite.

Let us begin by briefly summarizing the findings in support of interpreting

Neoptolemus’ actions as emulating the pyrrhiche. The strongest piece of evidence comes at lines 1135-36 when the messenger describes him as performing ‘terrible pyrrhics’

(δεινὰς πυρρίκας) while guarding against javelins. In his edition of the Loeb, Kovacs adds a note to his translation clarifying that Neoptolemus executed “‘a terrible pyrrhic dance,’ a sort of military exercise that derives its name from Neoptolemus’ other name,

Pyrrhus”.442 Even Stevens, although unconvinced that Euripides here intended any obscure aetiology, nevertheless agreed that the words refer to the ancient but well-known

442 Kovacs 1995: 337.

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war dance.443 It is, therefore, fairly well accepted that the messenger’s speech does contain at least one reference to Neoptolemus defending himself as though dancing the pyrrhiche. For more specific allusions, we must turn to our ancient sources, who offer passing descriptions of the movements of the dance. The earliest literary reference to the pyrrhic dance can be found in Aristophanes’ Clouds. Here Just Speech criticizes the youths of Athens, who are incapable of wielding their shields properly while performing at the Panathaneia (988-989):

ὥστε μ’ ἀπάγχεσθ’ ὅταν ὀργεῖσθαι Παναθηναίοις δέον ἀυτοὺς τὴν ἀσπίδα τῆς κωλῆς προέχων ἀμελῇ τις Τριτογενείης.

and so I am ready to choke whenever they’re supposed to be dancing at the Panathenaea and one of them, holding his shield in front of his haunch, has no care for Tritogeneia!

Plato provides a more detailed account, explaining that the pyrrhiche (Laws 7.815a):

τὰς τε εὐλαβείας πασῶν πληγῶν καὶ βολῶν ἐκνεύεσι καὶ ὑπείξει πάσῃ καὶ ἐκπηδήσεσιν ἐν ὕψει καὶ σὺν ταπεινῶσει μιμουμένην.

represents ways of avoiding all kinds of blows and shots by twisting aside and giving way and leaps up high or crouching.

From these passages, we learn of a few important features of the war-dance: the manipulation of the shield and the various methods of evasion, including swerving, ducking, and leaping. The defensive nature of the pyrrhiche is a prominent feature, though it should be noted that Plato goes on to describe the ways that a hoplite could take the offense and return blows.

443 Stevens 1971: 231-232. See also Lloyd 2005: 169, who also reads a reference to the pyrrhic dance in these lines. Although it is my contention that Euripides purposefully crafts an image of Neoptolemus as originator of the pyrrhiche, since the main force of my argument lies in the depiction of Neoptolemus as idealized hoplite, my case is not substantially diminished if we were to agree with Stevens.

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Borthwick’s initial article called attention to Euripides’ incorporation of a Trojan leap and defensive handling of the shield in the messenger speech.444 Cairns notes that additional references to the pyrrhiche can be inferred if one considers not only the movements of Neoptolemus but also the actions of his attackers. Thus, in addition to

Borthwick’s observations, Ceccarelli and Cairns have proposed the following allusions:

1) The reference to Neoptolemus’ assailants as a ξιφήρης...λόχος (an armed ambush, 1114) recalls the associations of the pyrrhiche with the λόχος.445

2) The encircling of Neoptolemus by his attackers (1136-37) may evoke the ‘circling’ movement of pyrrhic dancers.446

3) The other name for the pyrrhiche, the χειρονομία, is perhaps implicitly alluded to by χερί (hand) at 1131. According to Cairns, both the alternative name and use of χερί in our passage hints at the prominence of hand movements in the dance.447

4) The emphasis given to Neoptolemus’ legs and feet (ποδοῖν, 1139; ποδῶν πάρος, 1134).448 Like hand gestures, the movements of the feet are another important feature of both the offensive and defensive maneuvers associated with the war- dance.449

5) Other combative actions of both Neoptolemus and his opponents. For instance, motions of pulling back χωρεῖ δὲ πρύμναν, ‘he drew back’, 1120), advancing (χωρεῖ πρὸς αὐτούς, ‘he advanced against them’, 1140), turning in flight (πρὸς φυγὴν ἐνώτισαν, ‘they turned their backs in flight’, 1141).450

Some of these references are undoubtedly more convincing than others. Cairns himself acknowledges that certain of his observations may justifiably be associated with epic

444 τὸ Τρωικὸν πήδημα πηδήσας ποδοῖν χωρεῖ πρὸς αὐτούς (‘he lept the Trojan leap with his feet and advanced against them’, Andr. 1139-40); προύτεινε τεύχη κἀφυλλάσσετ’ ἐμβολὰς ἐκεῖσε κἀκεῖσ’ ἀσπίδ’ ἐκτείνων χερί (‘he held his armour out in front and warded off their forays, stretching out his shield with his hand this way and that’, Andr. 1130-31). 445 Ceccarelli 1998: 202-206. 446 Cairns 2012: 34. 447 ibid. 448 According to Norwood, yet another reference to Neoptolemus’ feet can be supplied at 1121 (1906: 112, on line 1121), however, Cairns believes that the textual evidence works against such a conjecture (2012: 37-38). 449 Cairns 2012: 35. 450 ibid.

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warfare, which is appropriate to the context and content of the play. Yet every allusion need not carry the same weight in order for a reading of Neoptolemus to be performing the pyrrhiche to be persuasive. It is rather the weight of the whole, that is, the multiplicity of references to the pyrrhic dance, that reinforces such an interpretation.

At Athens, the pyrrhiche was an important aspect of hoplite training for youths.451

Although many Greek cities possessed a hoplite army, hoplite identity, in the specifically

Athenian sense, was deeply intertwined with democracy and egalitarian values. The hoplite phalanx itself offered a model for the concepts of civic participation and collective responsibility. Goldhill summarizes the correlation well when he states that

“the values of a hoplite are necessarily tied to a sense of collective endeavor”.452 To this effect, the pyrrhiche also played an integral part of Athenian self-perception, chiefly in the way that it contributed to a sense of community amongst citizens.453 It is difficult to prove with any certainty when the pyrrhic dance was added to the list of competitions at the Panathenaia, however, evidence suggests that it was introduced in the period following the end of tyranny and the beginnings of democracy in Athens, further linking the two institutions.454 Team ‘warrior’ contests, of which the pyrrhic dance was one, were restricted to Athenian citizens alone and displayed to an audience of both non-Athenians and Athenians alike the “spirit of cooperation and solidarity that now united the political community in Attica”.455 In addition, the competitors in the pyrrhiche, unlike other contests of the festival, do not appear to have been selected according to any sort of tribal

451 Cf. Borthwick 1970; Parke 1977: 36; Winkler 1990: 55-56; Von Reden and Goldhill 1999: 269. 452 Goldhill 1988: 145. Cf. Hesk 2000: 25-26. 453 Ceccarelli 2004: 95-99, 115-117. 454 Cf. Anderson 2003: 165-166 and Ceccarelli 1998: 31-36. Ceccarelli does, however, note other indications which may originate the pyrrhiche in the sixth century BCE. There is also possible evidence that hoplites were added to the Panathenaic procession around this same time (Anderson 2003: 165 n. 20). 455 Anderson 2003: 171.

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organization, which may have enhanced a feeling of unity through the representation of members chosen from the entire community.456

The inclusion of the pyrrhic dance at the Panathenaia also had special relevance to

Athena in her role as patron goddess of Athens. There was what Borthwick identifies as a

“patriotic Athenian tradition” that strongly associated the goddess with the custom of armed dancing, at times attributing the invention of the pyrrhiche itself to her, either after defeating the Giants in battle or at the moment of her birth.457 Some scholars have even interpreted allusions to these events in the movements of the dance.458 The performance of the pyrrhic dance was, therefore, clearly connected with Athena and would have had special significance for Athenians. What precisely the social function of this performance at Athens was is harder to determine.

By the fifth century, it is most likely that the pyrrhiche no longer held any practical utility for military training.459 To be sure, even the role that the hoplite warrior played in fifth-century Athens differed from that of other classical poleis. Pericles boasts

(whether genuinely or not) that Athenian military practices rely less on preparation than natural ability (2.39.1-4) and, in fact, Athens’ power lay predominately in its navy and fleet rather than its army. Despite all this, in its civic discourse, Athens preferred to represent itself as keeping with “the collectivity associated with the hoplite ethos in a very extreme way”.460 Thus, the significance the pyrrhiche, too, for the Athenians rather lay at a symbolic level, as Ceccarelli summarizes well: “[t]he frequent allusions to it, as

456 Contra Neils 1994; Anderson 2003. 457 Borthwick 1969, 1970. Cf. Ar. Clouds 988-9; Dion. Hal. Ant. 7.72.7; Pl. Leg. 796b, Crat. 406d-407a; Lucian Dial. D. 8. 458 Anderson 2003: 172; Borthwick 1970. 459 Ceccarelli 2004: 92 n. 4, 117; Rawlings 2000; Anderson 2003: 172. Contra Reed 1998; Winkler 1990: 54f. 460 Croally 1994: 49.

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well as its presence in a number of festivals, creating a sort of intertextual net between these events, show that it constitutes a fundamental element in the Athenians’ perceptions of themselves”.461 Neoptolemus’ association with the pyrrhic dance, then, surely could have resonated with an Athenian audience, regardless of whether one chooses to agree with Stevens and conclude that there is insufficient evidence to support the view that

Euripides intended an aetiology for the pyrrhiche with Neoptolemus as its inventor.462

The values of the hoplite were themselves inextricably linked with the tactics of hoplite warfare – a cooperative endeavour, fought fairly and in the open. For Athens, the hoplite phalanx served as an exemplar for the city’s “developing ideology of democracy, civic participation and collective responsibility”.463 In contrast to the Homeric warrior, the hoplite fights as one member of the massed ranks. Individual successes are no longer relevant as the phalanx is only as strong as its weakest member. It is easy to see a connection here between the emphasis on collective glory and the ideals of Athenian democracy, an association which, we have seen above, is incorporated into Pericles’ funeral oration. The image of Neoptolemus as ideal hoplite – and as an Athenian hoplite, in particular – is intensified by comparison with the representation of Menelaus as anti- hoplite.464 We have already observed that he is mockingly called a ‘fearsome hoplite’ by

461 Ceccarelli 2004: 117. 462 Cf. n. 445. 463 Hesk 2000: 25. 464 Orestes, too, although identified as Argive in our play, is portrayed similarly by Euripides as deceptive and calculating (993-1008). Cf. Hesk 2000: 66. The resemblances between the characterization of Orestes in his involvement in the ambush on Neoptolemus parallels the depiction of Menelaus. Conacher, too, integrates Orestes to his identification of the ‘evil’ Spartan elements of the tragedy (1970: 173). The figure of Orestes did historically have some connections to Sparta. There is known to have been a cult of Orestes at Sparta and Malkin further argues that his heredity as heir to the joint kingdoms of Agamemnon and Menelaus would have made him, in effect, Lacedaemonian (1994: 26-28). Herodotus tells the story of how the Spartans brought back the bones of Orestes in order to prevail over the Tegeans in battle. A Spartan noble, Lichas, he relates, discovered the burial site and, through the use of deception, was able to steal the bones and bring them back to Sparta with him (1.66-69).

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Andromache for pursuing herself and her child. In the lines that precede this denouncement, Andromache recalls how Hector often used to cause Menelaus to retreat to his ship in cowardice, transforming him into a sailor (455-457). With these words,

Andromache reveals how Menelaus again and again was no match for the warrior skills of Hector, who “actually deprives Menelaus of his ‘hoplite status’ because he makes him into a sailor instead”.465 Athenian political discourse did continuously favour hoplite identity in contrast to that of the sailor, despite the fact that it owed its growth and empire to its formidable navy rather than its land army.466 Athenians of hoplite status largely fell into the category of the ‘middle class’, the dominant social group in Athens. The navy, on the other hand, was generally comprised of the poorer classes, since in order to be a hoplite, citizens were faced with the financial obligation of purchasing their own armour.467 Thus, the exaltation of hoplite identity – at the expense of the rowing class – may be seen as another facet of the valorization of democracy.

Neoptolemus’ employment of the pyrrhiche, for Hesk, brings to the forefront the contrast between the open values of the hoplite and the deceptive, anti-hoplitic tactics used by Menelaus. This contrast also offers a final thread of comparison between the tragedy and the content of Pericles’ funeral oration. The epitaphioi, according to Loraux, construct an implicit agon between Sparta and Athens, “declaring difference against a background of resemblance”.468 Unlike tragedy, which more frequently constructs an opposition between liberty and tyranny, the funeral oration almost exclusively pits

465 Hesk 2000: 76. 466 Consider the paradigmatic function of the battle of Marathon, as Loraux suggests. She argues that Marathon was often praised by orators at the expense of the battle of Salamis, a victory for Athens’ navy (1986: 155-171, esp. 161-163). 467 Hesk 2000: 23-24. 468 Loraux 1986: 209.

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democracy against oligarchy. Loraux goes so far as to argue that the aristocratic representation of democracy is intended to deprive oligarchy – and Sparta, more specifically – of the ideals behind which that institution hides, enabling democrats to fight the oligoi ‘on their own ground’.469 While I am not fully convinced of this interpretation, her observations on the implicit (and occasionally explicit) opposition between Athens and Sparta are significant, particularly with reference to the

Andromache.

Pericles’ epitaphios, like the oration of the Corinthians in Book 1 of Thucydides, tacitly forms a comparison of Athenian and Spartan national character. For Bosworth,

Pericles’ comments about Athenian institutions are given a special slant through their emphasis on the collective values of democracy.470 Although Pericles initially praises

Athens by comparing its constitution with that of other unnamed poleis throughout

Greece (2.37.1), “it soon becomes clear that he particularly defines and eulogizes Athens as the model Greek city against Sparta, which he refers to by name once (2.39.2) and often by implication (cf. 2.37.2-3, 39-40, 41.1-2). Sparta, in turn, becomes the very negation of the system of values underlying Athens’ democratic constitution.”471

Oligarchy then, it can be argued, is contrasted with democracy by Pericles from the outset of his speech, even before he explicitly identifies Sparta as the target of his criticism.472

469 Elsewhere Loraux accounts for the use of oligarchic (that is, aristocratic) ideals as one component of Athens’ paradoxical desire to present its constitution as unique and the city’s simultaneous annexation of the values of its enemies (1986: 211). I find this perspective more convincing, as it typifies the behaviour of dominant groups adopting the worldview of its subordinates (cf. Gramsci 1971), or perhaps more correctly, imperialistic groups appropriating the cultural identity of the colonized (cf. Spurr 1993: 28-42). 470 Bosworth 2000: 6. 471 Millender 1996: 318-319. 472 Lysias’ funeral oration uses similarly elusive tactics in its criticism of Sparta. As Loraux explains, “before saying [that the Lacedaemonians were unworthy of leadership] explicitly and attacking the

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The city of Athens is celebrated as egalitarian, open, spontaneous, and progressive.

Millender condenses the numerous oppositions stated by Pericles under the “more comprehensive antithesis between Athens as an open democracy and Sparta as a closed society based on secrecy and guile”.473 It is this dichotomy as it is manifested in military affairs that is most relevant to our discussion of hoplite identity. It is worth pointing out that the use of trickery was not, in reality, as divorced from Athenian politics and military tactics as Pericles would have us believe.474 One might consider the employment of deception and cunning in Athenian naval strategies or Andocides’ insistence on the prerogative of a general to use secrecy and dishonesty toward his own men in times of war (3.34). What is important, then, is not simply that Pericles characterizes Spartans as dishonest, but rather that Spartan trickery is specifically defined against Athenian openness. In this manner, the stereotype of Spartans as deceptive “is construed in terms of its incompatibility with the ideal Athenian’s identity as a hoplite-citizen who is born with the attributes of military excellence and manliness”.475

Thus, in keeping with the antithesis between Sparta and Athens that is frequently suggested by Athenian authors, we may additionally infer an identification of

Neoptolemus with an Athenian ideal based on the fact that he is depicted as the inverse of

Menelaus, even though he is nowhere explicitly identified as an Athenian hoplite.476 The juxtaposition of ‘Spartan’ and ‘Athenian’ also recalls Edith Hall’s study of Greek self- selfishness of Spartan policies, Lysias hints as much, and the absence of the Spartans at Marathon becomes a paradigm in the service of the city’s ambitions” (1986: 164). 473 Millender 1996: 319. 474 See Hesk 2000 for a useful discussion on deception in Athens. 475 Hesk 2000: 32. 476 Cf. Loraux 1986: 155-220, esp. 202-220; Hesk 2000: 23-40, 64-84; Millender 1996: esp. 5-16, 194-214, 302-340; Vidal-Naquet 1986: 106-128. Both Powell 1989 and Bradford 1994 also discuss the images of ‘tricky Spartans’ in Greek literature, though neither consider in any meaningful way why this stereotype was implemented or how it relates to representations of Athenian character.

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definition and, in particular, her sections on ‘barbaric Greeks’ and ‘noble barbarians’.477

In considering how the original audience’s historical situation might have affected the presentation of Greeks and barbarians, she notes that it is the Athenians’ current enemies in the Peloponnesian War who are depicted negatively. She explains that, “[w]hen the

Peloponnesian or Theban characters turn into “enemies”, the logic of the tragic narrative dictates that the barbarians almost imperceptibly turn into “friends”, and assume the role of surrogate Athenians”.478 While I agree with the general argument, that when Spartans are depicted as enemies, we may perceive other characters as assuming the role of

‘surrogate’ Athenians, I disagree that the narrative requires that these individuals be barbarians. Indeed, in the Andromache, as I have argued, both Peleus and Neoptolemus assume Athenian values and characteristics.479

As I suggested in my introduction, the Andromache speaks on two levels.

Shumate speaks of colonial discourse as possessing an “intrinsic self-contradiction” in its capacity “to oscillate between self-righteousness and self-doubt”, often reflecting both sentiments simultaneously.480 In the Andromache, on one level, the depiction of Peleus and Neoptolemus contributes to the justification and affirmation of Athens’ imperial leadership. The adoption of Athenian ideals by the Thessalian characters may be interpreted as an unconscious effort to elicit compliance and their consent to the domination of Athens. That our characters exhibit and advocate for traditionally Athenian

477 Hall 1989: 201-223. 478 ibid., 214. She goes on to state that the tragic representation of the Trojan cycle, by casting the Spartans in the role of barbarians and assimilating them with an archetype of arrogant Persians, transforms the Trojan figures, the victims of Spartan aggression, into proxies for the Athenians. 479 Following a similar approach, Cairns points out that, “the converse of Neoptolemus standing as representative of the Thessalians and Molossians in the Andromache is that Neoptolemus’ enemies, Menelaus, Hermione, and Orestes, represent Athens’ Spartan enemies of the 420s BC” (2012: 39). 480 Shumate 2006: 122, 96.

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qualities, furthermore, is demonstrative of the superiority of Athens’ institutions and values and hearkens back to the civilizing aspect of Athenian assertions of altruism. At the same time, the juxtaposition of the ‘Athenianized’ Thessalian characters against the negative portrayal of the Spartans contributes to a deconstruction of the image of Sparta as ‘liberator of Greece’ and, correspondingly, reinforces the play’s ideological stance towards Sparta’s competing voice.

Yet at its core, Boehmer observes that a critical function of the rhetorical formulation of a colonized culture is the role it plays in “metropolitan self- questioning”.481 The manifestation of the rhetorical tropes of appropriation and idealization, therefore, implies a critical assessment of the dominant group’s culture.

Shumate perceives a consistency in the “recurring catalogue of virtues” that are attributed to idealized subordinates, among which are included “a natural sense of justice; a constitutional inability to deceive […], that is, practices that mirror inversely any putative excesses of the writer’s own culture in this area”.482 According to this approach, Peleus’ characterization in the play as a loyal democrat committed to upholding justice acts as a sort of wish fulfillment: he exemplifies everything that Athenian democracy ought to be but occasionally falls short of.483 It is in this way that the portrayal of Peleus offers insight into values deemed important to Athenian society. The rehabilitation of

Neoptolemus, too, contributes to this picture through his semblance to the Athenian hoplite ideal, a figure who embodies the decidedly democratic values of cooperation, integrity, and egalitarianism.

481 Boehmer 2005: 139. 482 Shumate 2006: 86. 483 Spurr 1993: 127-128. For more on the shortcomings of the Athenian ideal, see below, Chapter 5.

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One could certainly make the argument that the presentation of Thessalian characters as possessing qualities associated with democratic Athens is merely a consequence of the fact that Greek tragedy was composed by Athenian authors for performance at Athens in front of an audience largely comprised of Athenian citizens.484

It is natural to assume that non-Athenians may have been portrayed in such a way as to make them more relatable to audience members or to enable the viewer to identify or sympathize with the character. Yet even if this is true, it does not discount the suggestion that the Thessalian figures of the play were appropriated to the value system of Athens, their ally and leader, as a part of Athenian hegemonic discourse. Indeed, as it will be argued in the following section, the modifications that Euripides makes to the traditional myth, taken in conjunction with the historical relationship between Athens and Molossia, lend themselves to the conclusion that the representation of Peleus and Neoptolemus in the tragedy played a larger purpose with regards to Athenian hegemonic ideology.

4.6: Athens and Molossia: Art Imitating Life

The Andromache exhibits ties to the contemporary political climate, especially with regards to both Athens’ and Sparta’s interests in North Western Greece, which parallel similar connections identified in other Euripidean tragedies, such as the Ion, as we considered briefly above in Section 3 above. More specifically, the prominence of the

Thessalian localization in the play has already been studied by such scholars as Oliver

Taplin and William Allan for its implications on the relationship between Thessaly and

484 It is true that neither Aeschylus (Eleusis), Sophocles (Colonus), nor Euripides (Salamis) were born directly in Athens, but their demes were an essential part of the Athenian socio-political system. Moreover, they lived and worked in Athens for many years and would have been considered by others, and perhaps even considered themselves, a part of the fabric of Athenian life.

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Athens at the outbreak of the war.485 These observations have traditionally been made in reference to the possibility of secondary audiences outside of Athens and, more broadly, the spread of tragedy beyond Attic borders. Even though Taplin’s analysis centres on issues of performance and potential audiences, he nevertheless acknowledges the possibility of a political or diplomatic dimension to such emphases on location. Indeed, he recognizes that,

the Thessalian localizations in Sophokles and Euripides are there, at least on some level, to promote the Athenian cause in that area. They may be seen, that is, as a kind of ‘cultural propaganda’, suggesting to Malians, Trachinians, Phthiotians, Pheraians and the rest that they should wish to be closely affiliated with the city which has created such a superb new art-form, and which has celebrated their localities within it.486

Similarly, the focus of Allan’s examination of localization in the Andromache lies in the diffusion and performance of Attic tragedy. Allan agrees with Taplin’s argument in favour of a secondary Thessalian audience and goes so far as to propose performances of the tragedy in Epirus and Molossia as well. He considers one explanation for the

Thessalian and Molossian content of the play to be the increasing involvement of both groups in Athenian politics during the fifth century.487 It has been argued, for example, that the portrayal of Neoptolemus as an honest hoplite and “emphasis on the pyrrhic dance in Neoptolemus’ death scene is thus yet another element of the Andromache intended to show Neoptolemus morally in the best light possible”.488 Cairns identifies three factors which likely influenced Euripides’ reinterpretation: Neoptolemus’ status as mythical ancestor of the Molossians, the Thessalian nationality of Achilles and Peleus,

485 Cf. Taplin 1999: 33-57, Allan 2000: 149-160. 486 Taplin 1999: 48. 487 As Allan adds: “This is not the whole meaning of the play, but it is certainly a bonus from the Athenian point of view” (2000: 155). 488 Cairns 2012: 38.

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and lastly, Athens’ outreach to Molossia and Thessaly in the early years of the

Peloponnesian War.489 In the 420s, therefore, Athenian interests in Thessaly and

Molossia were especially strong, and, with the establishment of the Spartan colony of

Heraclea in Trachis, Athens was particularly eager to secure and to maintain the support of as many Thessalian city-states as possible.490 I find Allan’s arguments convincing, yet

I believe that the representation of Thessalian/Molossian characters in the Andromache can be interpreted as contributing more than “an attempt to court Molossian support” through the “invention of flattering genealogies” so that the drama would have had “a strong appeal” to the Molossian king Tharyps.491 Nonetheless, Allan comes closest to my own interpretation of Peleus’ characterization when he calls attention to the Hellenizing aspect of the Andromache. We have already observed how the Thessalian setting of the tragedy may have brought to mind Sparta’s colony at Heraclea Trachinia and the treatment of its associates there.492 In this final section of this chapter, we turn our focus to the relevance of the Andromache’s Molossian content.

Klotzsch first suggested over a century ago that the Andromache was originally produced in Athens while the Molossian king Tharyps was visiting and that it served, in part, as pro-Athenian propaganda.493 Robertson, too, took note of the play’s interest in the

489 ibid., 39. 490 Allan 2000: 149-160, esp. 152-156. 491 ibid., 153-155. 492 See above, Chapter 3.5. 493 Klotzsch 1911: 221. Justin writes (17.3): per ordinem deinde regnum ad Tharybam descendit, qui quoniam pupillus et unicus ex gene nobili superesset, intentiore omnium cura servandi eius educandique publice tutores constituuntur. Athenas quoque educandi gratia missus. Quanto doctor maioribus suis, tanto et populo gratior fuit. Primus itaque leges et senatum annuosque magistratus et reipublicae formam composuit, et ut a Pyrrho sedes, sic vita cultior populo a Tharyba statute (‘Then, in succession, the kingship came to Tharybs, over whom, seeing that he was an orphan and alone survived from a noble clan, guardians were publicly appointed, the concern of all was more eagerly intent on preserving and educating him. He was also sent to Athens for the sake of his education. As much as he was a teacher to his ancestors, by so much he was beloved by his people. And so he first set up laws, the senate, and annual magistracies, and

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fate of the son of Neoptolemus and Andromache, unnamed in the tragedy, but elsewhere identified as Molossus.494 He submitted that it was Euripides’ parting gift to Tharyps but went one step further than Klotzsch in proposing that it was performed not in Athens, but in Molossia.495 Allan rightly posits that earlier scholars may not have considered an initial production outside of Athens had it not been for the remark in the scholion on line 445:

εἰλικρινῶς δὲ τοὺς τοῦ δράματος χρόνους οὐκ ἔστι λαβεῖν. οὐ δεδίδακται γὰρ Ἀθήνησιν.

ὁ δὲ Καλλίμαχος ἐπιγραφῆναί φησι τῆι τραγωιδίαι Δημοκράτην...φαίνεται δὲ

γεγραμμένον τὸ δρᾶμα ἐν ἀρχαῖς τοῦ Πελοποννησιακοῦ πολέμου (‘it is not possible to determine the date of the play precisely, since it was not produced in Athens.

Callimachus says that Democrates transcribed the tragedy…and the play appears to have been written in the beginnings of the Peloponnesian War’).496 With the exception of this comment, little evidence of theatrical or stylistic elements that would differentiate the

Andromache from Euripides’ other works produced in Athens has been found.497

Scholars are, nevertheless, correct to point out that much of the tragedy would certainly appeal to an audience beyond Athens, even if the first production location cannot be determined with certainty.498 I am inclined to favour Allan’s interpretation, which acknowledges the likelihood of a primary Athenian audience with strong possibilities of performances outside of Attica, particularly in Northern Greece, sometime thereafter.

the form of the republic, and just as a dwelling place was founded for the people by Pyrrhus, in this way, a more civilized way of life was established by Tharybs’.) 494 The child is called ‘Molottos’ in the Dramatis Personae. Cf. Hall 1989: 181. 495 Robertson 1923: 58-60. 496 Allan 2000: 149-150. 497 Lloyd 2005: 12-13. 498 Cf. Allan 2000: 149-160, Taplin 1999: 44-48; for discussion on the appeal of other plays to international audiences, see Easterling 1994 and Taplin 1999: 33-57.

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Euripides did not originate the genealogy which linked the Molossians with

Neoptolemus and the house of the Aeacidae; rather, Pindar is the earliest known writer to have documented this connection (Nem. 7.38-40). The seventh-century poem Nostoi, which Proclus attributes to Hagias of Troizen, describes how Neoptolemus travelled to

Molossia before meeting Peleus in Phthia, however, the exact date of the composition of the Nostoi as well as its author is somewhat speculative.499 Nevertheless, many scholars agree that, whatever the origin of the tradition, the genealogy appears to date as far back as the seventh century.500 The Molossians themselves, Nilsson stipulates, most likely

“appropriated the myth of the wanderings of Neoptolemus from Thessaly and made him an ancestor of their royal house”.501 Euripides was, however, innovative in having

Neoptolemus dwell in Phthia prior to his death. Pindar (Pae. 6.98-120), in contrast, describes the son of Achilles as having settled in Molossia before his visit to Delphi.

Moreover, in Euripides’ reworking of the myth, Neoptolemus does not simply rule over

Molossia ‘for a short time’, as Pindar would have it, but it is there that the house of

Aeacus, his descendants, will live out their lives in prosperity.502 Fragoulaki reminds, too, that Aeacus was the figure who linked the Molossians with their Dorian heritage; however, as the father of Telamon and grandfather of Ajax, he also possessed a

499 Proclus in Bernabé 1987: 95; cf. [Apollodorus] Epitome 6.12. 500 Cf. Mitchell 2007: 205; Malkin 1998: 137-138, 2001: 202. Contra: Nilsson 1986: 105-106 n. 17, “It is first mentioned by Pindar, Nem. VII, v. 37”. 501 Nilsson 1986: 106. Malkin supports the view that it was the Molossians who created this genealogy for themselves rather than the Greeks inventing it for them (1998: 136-142, 2001: 200-206). Nilsson also offers discussion on a secondary genealogy associated with the Molossians, which he consigns to be of a later date. The first, relevant to our purposes, names Andromache as the mother of Neoptolemus’ child. The second instead describes his queen as a certain Lanassa. He accounts for the remodelling of the traditional genealogy, referencing the marriage of the historical king Pyrrhos to a daughter of the Syracusan tyrant Agathokles of the same name (1986: 105-108). Cf. Plut. Vit. Pyrrh. 1, Justin 17.3, Schol. Eur. Andr. 24. 502 βασιλέα δ’ἐκ τοῦδε χρὴ ἄλλον δι’ἄλλου διαπερᾶν Μολοσσίας εὐδαιμονοῦντας (1247-49).

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Salaminian and consequently Athenian element.503 These modifications allow for both the exploitation of a Thessalian localization in the Andromache, which further facilitates the use of a Phthian chorus and additional Thessalian characters, and for the aggrandizement of the Molossian people, linking them to both Trojan and Greek royal ancestry.

At the beginning of this chapter, I noted that the appropriation and idealization of

Thessalian figures equated compliance with subjugation and acceptance of the ideals of the colonizer (or dominant group, to use to Gramsci’s terminology). In accordance with the discourse of colonialism, the adoption by native peoples of the institutions and values of their subjugators was regarded as a sort of victory.504 The ‘Athenianization’ of Peleus and Neoptolemus, as we have documented above, did not take place on the dramatic stage alone, but arguably reflects the historical Hellenization of the north-western tribes that started under the rule of Tharyps.505 Tharyps, the king of the Molossians at the time of the production of the Andromache, was considered to be a ‘Hellenizer’ of his people.506 The Molossians, and other Epirote tribes, although Greek-speaking, were described as barbarians by Thucydides on account of their lack of culture.507 Tharyps is thought to have remodeled the Molossian state, in part, after Athens, and moreover, was granted Athenian citizenship sometime between 428-424 BCE, a rare action for the

503 Fragoulaki 2013: 275. 504 Cf. Spurr 1993: 32-34. 505 Cf. Allan 2000: 153, who in turn borrows the phrase ‘Hellenization’ from CT 1.352. 506 Justin 17.3. See CT 1.352 on the ‘Hellenization’ of the north-west tribes of the region and the novel use of the verb ἑλληνίζεσθαι. 507 Thuc. 2.80.5-6. See also Hammond in CAH2 III. iii. 284. Cf. Davies, “Greek visitors in the early fifth century clearly found the region, its culture, and its polity alien, and erected a mental boundary between it and their own Greekness” (2000: 237).

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time.508 According to Plutarch, Tharyps was credited with the introduction of Greek customs, laws, and script, to Molossian towns (Pyrrh. 1.3). Justin, a late Latin epitomist, reiterates the words of Plutarch, albeit giving them a decidedly more Roman construal.509

Admittedly, both authors are writing several hundred years after Tharyps’ rule, however, surviving evidence does support the conjecture that he refashioned his kingdom at least in part based on Athenian influences. Davies, however, using newer epigraphical evidence, cautions against taking their reports too seriously. Instead he finds it much more likely that the motivation for these advancements derived from the Molossians themselves rather than imposition from outside.510 If Davies’ assertions are correct, far from undermining my argument, this suggests that the accounts of both Plutarch and Justin reproduce a decidedly Athenocentric tradition which favoured fifth-century Athenian influence on the developments to Molossian polity while downplaying any indigenous component. This sort of ethnocentric interpretation brings us back to Spurr’s discussion of the appropriation of Vietnam by Americans, who, in analyzing an article written about

Ngo Dinh Diem, identifies in its rhetorical strategy what he describes as a tone of “self- congratulation on the power of American influence”.511

508 On the granting of Athenian citizenship to Tharyps, see Hammond 1967: 506-507; Osborne 1983: 29- 30; Hall 1989: 180-181. Concerning the refashioning of the Molossian state, Allan references the perceptible Athenian influence on Molossian writing script, coins, pottery, and temple architecture (2000: 154). Cf. Dakaris 1964: 58-59. It is very likely that later accounts of Tharyps’ contributions have been exaggerated (Davies 2000: 253-254; cf. Plut. Pyrrh. 1-3, Justin 17.3.1-22), nevertheless the evidence does seem to suggest a certain level of influence from Athens. It need not have been the case that the Molossians entirely lacked culture and political organization prior to Tharyps’ visit to Athens but is more probable instead that he was inspired by certain aspects of the Athenian way of life and instituted these elements upon his return to Molossia. 509 He tells us that Tharyps, “primus itaque leges et senatum annuosque magistratus…composuit” (‘first established laws and senate and the annual magistracies’, 17.3.11). 510 Davies 2000: 253-254. 511 Spurr 1993: 37.

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Keeping in line with this sort of interpretation, Barbara Kowalzig recently argued that hero-cult aetiology and the Athenianization of Greek heroes in tragedy worked as a tool by means of which Athens reaffirmed its panhellenic commitment to the rest of

Greece, an integral aspect of its imperial and democratic ideology alike, and therefore, served as a strategy by which it justified its imperial rule and empire. Kowalzig’s approach does not draw on rhetorical techniques, like those employed by Spurr, yet her examination and its argument about the Athenians’ construction of their panhellenic cause similarly suggests that the Athenianization of Greek heroes contributes to a validation of Athens’ empire.

The appropriation of non-Athenian heroes, Kowalzig argues, helped to link

Athens to a network of panhellenic myths, to which they had previously had few ties.512

These Athenianized heroes would then appear to be acting on behalf of Greece and the

Greeks in the role of an Athenian, which further propagated Athens’ self-appointed image as liberator and benefactor of Hellas. To illustrate this point, Kowalzig draws particular attention to the appropriation of Heracles at the end of Euripides’ Heracles, and the presentation of his twelve labours as a single, monumental task for the liberation of all Greeks.513 Although her analysis focuses primarily on two plays by Sophocles,

Oedipus at Colonus and Ajax, she notably observes also that there is a peculiar clustering of tragedies performed in the early years of the Peloponnesian War, which “document a

512 For example, the Athenians insinuated themselves in the myth of the seven against Thebes, with the intervention of Athens in the burial of the fallen Argives (cf. Steinbock 2012: ch. 3, who argues that local communities throughout Attica and Boeotia, including Athens, used connections to this myth, in part, in order to bolster their position in the Panhellenic cultural landscape). Edith Hall, too, observes a tendency in Athenian tragedy of ‘myth-napping’ important non-Athenian heroes (2006: 187) See also Hall 1997 on the appropriation of Oedipus, Heracles, and Orestes by Athenian tragedians. On early Athenian myths, with particular note of the scarcity of native Athenian myths, see Parker 1987. 513 Kowalzig 2006: 95.

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startling overlap between the homelands of tragic personnel and Athenian contemporary war efforts”.514

The Andromache does not adhere to Kowalzig’s criteria entirely, as it does not contain any direct reference to Athens, and consequently, does not ‘Athenianize’ the heroes of the play in the explicit way that she documents in her analysis. Yet our tragedy does conform to Kowalzig’s observation about tragedies at the beginning of the

Peloponnesian War and Athenian interests in foreign territory, and, as we have seen above, Peleus and Neoptolemus are arguably associated with Athenian characteristics throughout the play. The Andromache, in addition, provides aetiologies, albeit briefly and in passing, for the hero-cults of Peleus and of his grandson, Neoptolemus.515 Euripides, too, by establishing a connection between Neoptolemus and the pyrrhic dance, may have implicitly suggested an aetiology for the pyrrhiche that can be attributed to the son of

Achilles, as opposed to the other individuals or regions who have been credited with the invention of the dance.516 The kind of ‘Athenianization’ seen in the tragedy is admittedly different from the adoption of Greek heroes and hero-cults that Kowalzig describes in her analysis, yet there is a consistency worth nothing in the practice of non-Athenian figures

514 ibid., 91. 515 During her appearance as deus ex machina at the close of the play, Thetis provides instructions on the burial of Neoptolemus at Delphi (1238-42) and relays to Peleus that he must go and wait at Cape Sepias, where he will be transformed into a god (1253-69). On the cult of Neoptolemus, see for example, Fontenrose 1960 and 1969. On the cult of Peleus, see Taplin 1999: 45. An historical hero-cult to Peleus is admittedly not well attested, however, ancient sources do record two references to its existence: a fragment of Callimachus’ Aitia, which makes mention of an annual festival near Euboea to ‘Peleus the king of the Myrmidons’, and much later, Clemens of Alexandria, who, citing a treatise by one Monimos, states that in Pella an Achaean man had been sacrificed to Peleus and Cheiron (cf. Farnell 1921: 310f.) It ought to be noted that Peleus’ hero-cult, unlike examples considered by Kowalzig, does not appear to have been celebrated in Athens, nevertheless, her investigation includes mention of Medea, whom she acknowledges has no hero-cult at Athens (2006: 94). 516 Other candidates include Achilles, the Amazons, the Kouretes, the Dioscuri, Dionysus, Silenus, Athena, various descendants of Neleus, the town of Pyrrhichos, and an individual named Pyrrhichos. Cf. Ceccarelli 1998: ch. 8.

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taking on the characteristics or values of the Athenians, whether historically or on the tragic stage.

4.7: Summary

In this chapter, I have argued that we may perceive a clear appropriation and idealization of the Thessalian characters of Peleus and Neoptolemus through both their words and behaviour. Each is to some degree identified with the values and ideals of democratic Athens. Such an identification firstly renders the portrayal of Athens’ allies on stage useful to Athenian interests. The depiction of Thessalian figures, and indirectly

Molossians, a tribe which was considered barbarian by Greek standards, as extoling the benefits and values of democracy demonstrates the positive effects that Athens and its unique constitution have had upon its allies. The conception of Athens as benefactor was an integral component of its self-identification, even before it had relevance to Athenian hegemonic ideology. Consider, for example, Theseus’ reputation as a civilizer throughout

Greece, which dates to the sixth century.517 In the Andromache, the inclusion of Peleus and Neoptolemus also enables Euripides to hold a mirror to their Spartan counterparts, both reinforcing and exposing the deceitful and immoral behaviour of Menelaus and

Hermione, and by extension, the historical Lacedaemonians.

And yet, the appropriation and idealization of the ‘colonized’ Thessalians also represents an “unconscious act of self-reflection” that “is invariably produced by a rhetorical situation in which the writer takes an ethical position in regard to his or her own culture”.518 In Peleus and Neoptolemus we see the embodiment of core democratic

517 Mills 1997: 1-42. 518 Spurr 1993: 125.

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ideals, those with which the Athenians frequently identified themselves in their panegyric, but which, in reality, were not always maintained with the same integrity in their interstate relations and politics. It is this fissure between idealism and realism that will occupy the central focus of the final chapter of this thesis.

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Chapter 5: Real vs. Ideal: Critical Self-Awareness in the

Andromache

5.1: Introduction

As I have put forward in the preceding chapters, the depiction of Spartan and

Thessalian characters in the Andromache reflects indications of an ideology, consistent with that depicted in traditional Athenian suppliant drama and epitaphioi, which sought to strengthen and justify Athens’ position as leader amongst Greek city states. In Chapter

3, by approaching my analysis of the characterization of Menelaus and Hermione from the perspective of hegemonic theory, I established that the Spartan figures in the play are associated with the negative trappings of imperial rule, many of which the Athenians themselves had been accused of in their position as rulers of an empire. Their behaviour is shown to be inconsistent with Hellenic values, a representation which suggests their unsuitability for rule over Greeks, while implicitly endorsing the Athenians’ leadership.

Then again in Chapter 4, by means of an application of the rhetorical modes of colonial discourse, I argued that the portrayal of Thessalian Peleus and his grandson,

Neoptolemus, reinforces Athens’ authority by aligning its historical allies with the values and ideals of the city-state.

An important aspect of both theoretical approaches is the way in which they indirectly expose certain underlying realities about the ruling group itself. In other words, what at first appears to be straightforward criticism of the Athenians’ rivals or affirmation of Athens’ position and worldview, once closely probed, reveals complications. Despite the image that the Athenians promoted of themselves as just, compassionate, and moderate rulers, the historical picture of Athens’ rule was, in reality, more frequently

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based on expediency and self-interest, the very qualities for which Menelaus is criticized in the Andromache.

In her analysis of Athenian suppliant drama, Tzanetou interprets the obstacles inherent to suppliancy (the probability of war against the enemy city and the risk of contagion by a polluted suppliant, for example) and the conditions imposed by Athens upon the acceptance of suppliants as demonstrative of the historical realities of Athenian empire. Although Athens is depicted as altruistic in its defense of the weak, the reasons for its actions are in fact motivated more strongly by self-interest. The suppliants, mirroring the role of Athenian allies, are required to reciprocate Athens’ generosity in some way in order to guarantee their acceptance.519

Just as these difficulties of suppliancy complicate the idealized presentation of

Athenian rule in traditional suppliant drama, so too do the characteristics of Spartan leadership depicted in the Andromache necessitate more careful consideration.

Papadopoulou has suggested that the behaviour and attitude of the Argive envoy in

Euripides’ Heracleidae in actuality more closely resembles Athenian real politics, and I propose that the same type of interpretation may be applied to the portrayal of the

Spartans in the Andromache.520 Euripides does not present us with a one-sided, propagandistic interpretation of Spartan leadership. Rather, upon closer inspection, the

519 Tzanetou 2012: 16-19. In Aeschylus’ Eumenides, Orestes proposes an alliance with Argos, offering military aid and promising that no Argive will make war against Athens “for the future and all the whole length of time to come” (τὸ λοιπὸν εἰς ἃπαντα πλειστήρη χρόνον, Eu. 763). The Furies, in addition, are transformed into benevolent divinities, who will protect the fertility and procreation of Athenian households (Eu. 881-925). When the gods demand the sacrifice of a young maiden to ensure success in battle in Euripides’ Heracleidae, the daughter of Heracles offers to die so that the Athenians may defeat her enemy, Eurystheus (483-534). Eurystheus himself upon his death prophesies that he will act as saviour of Athens, hostile to their enemies, as gift to the city (1027-37). Lastly, in Sophocles’ Oedipus at Colonus, Oedipus offers to use his supernatural powers against Thebes as a benefit, ὄνησις, to Athens in exchange for shelter (576-628). 520 Papadopoulou 2011: 385.

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arguments made by Spartan characters – Menelaus, in particular – can be seen to reflect not only aspects of Spartan leadership, as we saw above in Chapter 3, but, perhaps more significantly, Athenian as well.521

In contrast with the representation of Athenian rule in tragedy and funeral orations as hegemony based on equality and consent, historiographical texts offer a grimmer picture of the Athenians as rulers of an empire that was built on the use of physical force and compulsion. The imperial character of this rule is evidenced by the Athenians’ constant desire for expansion and by the increasingly harsher treatment of their allies.

Thucydides’ narrative of the Peloponnesian War, as Tzanetou explains, “demonstrates compellingly that the Athenians’ appeal to a hegemonic past was inconsistent with their current practices of empire”.522 As early as the description of the outbreak of the war,

Thucydides’ Athenians famously explain that they will not give up their empire on account of three powerful motives: honour, fear, and self-interest (τιμῆς καὶ δέους καὶ

ὠφελίας, 1.76.2). Far from suggesting that they rule in order to protect the rights of the weak, as they do in Athenian panegyric, the Athenians fall back on the universal law that the weak should be subject to the strong.523

In this chapter, I argue that an analysis of the Spartan characters in the tragedy, informed by the Gramscian concepts of hegemony and ideology, offers insight into the

521 Jon Hesk, for example, reads the Andromache as engaging in the construction of Spartan ‘other’ and Athenian ‘self’. He further suggests that the use of the term στρατηγός, which had particular significance to fifth-century Athens, served as a ‘zooming device’, introducing a questioning, and possible criticism, of the behaviour of generals in contemporary Athens (2000: 79-84). On the cinematic analogy of the zooming device, see above n. 426. For discussion on the institution of the strategia, see above, Chapter 4.4. 522 Tzanetou 2012: 23. Sophie Mills (1997), in her analysis of the role of the Athenian king Theseus in tragedy, argues that he serves as a model of the idealized Athenian civic ethos, consistent with the image presented in funeral speeches. She suggests that Thucydides’ account can be read as a counterpoint to this unchanging and fixed ideal. 523 Cf. Thuc. 1.76.2: αἰεὶ καθεστῶτος τὸν ἥσσω ὑπὸ τοῦ δυνατωτέρου κατείργεσθαι (‘since the rule has always existed that the weaker is held down by the stronger’.).

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Athenians’ own view of their position of authority as they grappled with the discrepancy between the ideal and the real. Relying once again on Thucydides to provide the historical context for my analysis, I suggest that the behaviour for which Menelaus is censured in the tragedy bears a strong resemblance to the real politics practiced by

Athens during the Peloponnesian War. I first offer a detailed comparison of the Spartans’ words and conduct in the Andromache against those of the Athenian politician, Cleon, in

Thucydides’ Mytilenean debate. This inquiry into Athens’ historical approach to interstate relations leads to a discussion of the concept of polypragmosune, interventionism. As we shall see, although Athens frequently presented its interventionism as proof of its unwavering commitment to Hellenic nomoi, Athens’ allies and enemies alike viewed it as unsolicited interference and a symptom of Athens’ growing involvement in their autonomy. In the following pages, I return to Gramsci’s contention that ideology provides the means by which groups may become critically self- conscious.524 The parallels between the characterization of Menelaus in the tragedy and

Athens’ foreign policy at the time of the Peloponnesian War, I argue, help to promote the sort of critical thinking and self-questioning that was necessary for the development, and maintenance, of the hegemonic status of the Athenians as a ruling group.

5.2: The Mytilenean Comparison

David Cohen offers a fruitful discussion of Book 3 of Thucydides’ Histories, the events of which were roughly contemporaneous with the estimated production of the

Andromache.525 He suggests that the chapters concerning events at Mytilene, Plataea, and

524 Gramsci 1971: 375-377. 525 Cf. n. 4 above.

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Corcyra should be considered as a unified evaluation of a number of important themes, which, when considered closely, reveal the nature of Thucydides’ comments on issues of political deliberation, statesmanship, and empire. These themes are represented as a series of antinomies: justice vs. interest, revenge vs. moderation, and calculation vs. haste.526 I argue that it is possible to discern strong parallels between the antitheses prominent in

Thucydides’ Book 3 and the behaviour and motivations of the character of Menelaus. A detailed comparison of the ideas presented in Thucydides Book 3 and those put forward by the Spartan characters in the Andromache will help to unmask the realities of Athenian rule that were often disguised in panegyric. For our present purposes, we will concentrate our analysis on the debate at Athens over the fate of the Mytileneans.

In 428/7 the island of Lesbos, at the urging of the city of Mytilene, revolted from

Athens. The Athenians sent forces against the Mytileneans and blockaded the city (3.2-

6). By the following summer, the Mytileneans’ supplies had run out and they were compelled to come to terms with Athens (3.26-28). The Athenian Assembly gathered to discuss the punishment of their prisoners. Initially they voted to put to death not only those guilty of initiating the revolt, but also the remainder of the adult male population, and to enslave the women and children. On the following day, however, some of the people began to feel that their actions were rash and excessively cruel and asked that the assembly be reconvened in order to reconsider their decision (3.36). At the second assembly, as Thucydides describes, Cleon and Diodotus, two of the men who had spoken the previous day, argued once again for and against the execution of the Mytileneans

(3.36.6; 41).

526 Cohen 1984: 36-37.

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5.2.1: Calculation vs. Haste

Cleon, Thucydides tells us, was the most forceful, violent, and persuasive of

Athenian citizens at the time, and the words which Thucydides attributes to him do not fail to live up to this description (3.36.6).527 He begins his address by expressing his astonishment that the Athenian people have proposed to revisit their earlier motion.528 He explains (3.38.1):

ἐγὼ μὲν οὖν ὁ αὐτός εἰμι τῇ γνώμῃ καἰ θαυμάζω μἐν τῶν προθέντων αὖθις περὶ Μυτιληναίων λέγειν καὶ χρόνου διατριβὴν ἐμποιησάντων, ὅ ἐστι πρὸς τῶν ἠδικηκότων μᾶλλον (ὁ γὰρ παθὼν τῷ δράσαντι ἀμβλυτέρᾳ τῇ ὀργῇ ἐπεξέρχεται, ἀμύνεσθαι δὲ τῷ παθεῖν ὅτι ἐγγυτάτω κείμενον ἀντίπαλον ὄν μάλιστα τὴν τιμωρίαν λαμβάνει).

I myself am certainly of the same opinion, and I wonder at those who have proposed to speak again about the Mytileneans and have brought on a delay that is of more advantage to the guilty; for the sufferer proceeds against the perpetrator when his passion has been dulled, but revenge coming as soon after the injury as possible exacts the most equal repayment.

Cleon finds fault with the second assembly specifically for causing delay in the punishment of the wrongdoers. He seems to suggest that judgment ought to be motivated by anger and states very clearly that he believes penalties ought to be meted out at once before one has the opportunity to deliberate in a rational manner.

Nearly half of Cleon’s speech is dedicated not to the issue at hand, that is, the guilt of the Mytileneans and the appropriate punishment for their actions, but to oratory and leadership more generally, especially speakers who would try to influence the people

527 Both here and throughout the entirety of the Histories, the interpretation of the speeches of Thucydides raises difficulties. See Garrity 1998 with bibliography. I follow Garrity in understanding that Thucydides “has presented the speeches in a form in which he thought the individuals would have said what was required on a given occasion – while at all times, he takes care to assure us, keeping as close as possible to what he was able to determine was the content of the actual speeches” (1998: 373). 528 Cf. ἐγὼ μὲν οὖν καὶ τότε πρῶτον καὶ νῦν διαμάχομαι μὴ μεταγνῶναι ὑμᾶς τὰ προδεδογμένα (‘I am absolutely opposed, therefore, both on that first occasion and at present, to your reconsidering what was previously resolved’, Thuc. 3.40.2).

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with cleverness (3.37.5) and elaborate sophistic arguments (3.38.2). To his mind, it is better for a city to have bad laws, so long as they remain unaltered, than to have laws without authority. What is more, he maintains, matters of the state ought to be determined by simple, common men instead of the intelligent and wise (3.37.3).

Cleon’s condemnation of the tendencies of the Athenian assembly and approval of hasty deliberation accompanied by swift action are reminiscent of the characterization of the Athenians in Thucydides Book 1. The Corinthians urge Sparta to make war against

Athens, accusing the Athenians of aggression against its allies. They warn the Spartans about the Athenian national character, which is “quick to form their plans and carry out whatever action [the Athenians] resolve” (ἐπινοῆσαι ὀξεῖς καὶ ἐπιτελέσαι ἔργῳ ἃ ἂν

γνῶσιν, Thuc. 1.70.2). The Corinthians’ description of the Athenians here is clearly intended as criticism, yet, in the Mytilenean Debate, Cleon speaks of the disadvantages of thorough deliberation, especially if it results in changing one’s mind.529 It was not uncommon for Athenian panegyric to celebrate a positive version of the national qualities with which Athens’ allies and adversaries found fault. In Euripides’ Suppliant Women, for example, Theseus and a Theban herald debate Athens’ tendency to interfere in the affairs of other cities. When Theseus proclaims that he will help Adrastus and the

Argives despite the risk of war with Thebes, the herald sarcastically notes, “you have been accustomed to meddling, and your city, too” (πράσσειν σὺ πόλλ᾽ εἴωθας ἥ τε σὴ

529 Macleod calls Cleon’s irrationality concerning the processes of deliberation “the boldest version” of the contrast of facts and words in his speech (1983: 70). According to Cleon’s logic, “anyone who opposes [him] will have the absurd task of proving that the assembly never resolved what it did resolve, that is that x = not –x” (CT 1.426). Cf. Thuc. 3.38.2: καὶ δῆλον ὅτι ἢ τῷ λέγειν πιστεύσας τὸ πάνυ δοκοῦν ἀνταποφῆναι ὡς οὐκ ἔγνωσται ἀγωνίσαιτ᾽ ἄν, ἢ κέρδει ἐπαιρόμενος τὸ εὐπρεπὲς τοῦ λόγου ἐκπονήσας παράγειν πειράσεται (‘It is clear that [he who will speak to the contrary] will be striving, out of confidence in his speaking, to demonstrate that what was absolutely decided was not resolved at all, or else he is motivated by profit when he fashions his attractive speech and attempts to mislead.’).

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πόλις, 576). Theseus rebuts the criticism by explaining that “because [his city] toils much, for this very reason, it is very prosperous” (τοιγὰρ πονοῦσα πολλὰ πόλλ᾽

εὐδαιμονεῖ, 577).530 Cleon’s arguments in the Mytilenean Debate reveal early signs of the realities of Athenian rule and look forward to a foreign policy rooted in Machtpolitik, which is fully observable in the Melian Dialogue.531 By that time, Ehrenberg declares, “a new law rules, the rule of the stronger. Athenian imperialism appears in its most shameless nakedness”.532

The actions of Menelaus in the Andromache echo Cleon’s insistence upon judgment without proper deliberation. When Andromache offers to submit to a trial in order to determine her guilt (357-360), Menelaus ignores her proposal, flippantly brushing aside her comments with the remark, “woman, such things, as you say, are trivial and not worthy of my sovereignty nor of Greece” (366-367).533 His sole purpose in coming to Phthia is to aid his daughter by punishing Andromache and her son with the utmost speed and efficiency. Cohen sees Cleon’s conception of justice as “dispensing with the niceties of determining guilt or innocence in a fair trial” and this point is

530 The concept of polypragmosyne and its positive and negative implications will be discussed further below in Chapter 5.3. 531 Consider Finley: “The idealistic tones of the Funeral Oration are missing now” (1942: 177). So, too, Andrewes: “the contrast with the Funeral Speech is of course deliberate and important, and there is of course some hardening – in effect difference between Pericles’ Athens and Kleon’s” (1962: 72 n. 20). For more on the Periclean echoes in the speech of Cleon, see below, Chapter 5.2.3. 532 Ehrenberg 1947: 52. It should be observed that, although the most ruthless instances of Athenian Machtpolitik were perpetrated in and, therefore, associated with, post-Periclean Athens, there are examples of extreme interventionist imperialism under Pericles’ leadership, both prior to and during the Peloponnesian War. See Papadopoulou 2011: 381; Raaflaub 2007: 110-111, 117; Kagan 1991: 91-116. The Athenians, as early as Book 1, refer to the rule of the stronger (while nonetheless characterizing their rule as moderate, Thuc. 1.76.2). 533 He likewise pays no heed to the suppliant pleas of Andromache’s son, asking incredulously, “why do you fall before me, supplicating me with entreaties, as though I am a sea cliff or wave” (τί με προσπίτνεις, ἁλίαν πέτραν ἢ κῦμα λιταῖς ὣς ἱκετεύων, 537-538). Now that he has both Andromache and her child in his custody, he refuses to hear any arguments on their behalf.

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emphasized throughout the Andromache.534 Menelaus’ behaviour, in particular, reflects this sentiment, as evidenced by Peleus’ first lines upon his entrance. “What are you doing, engaging in rash attempts?” he asks. “Menelaus, stop! Do not make haste without trial” (τί πράσσετ᾽ ἄκριτα μηχανώμενοι; Μενέλα᾽, ἐπίσχες· μὴ τάχυν᾽ ἄνευ δίκης, 549-

550). The Greek vocabulary allows for many interpretive implications. The adjective

ἄκριτος, for example, is derived from the verb κρίνω (LSJ translates ‘to decide or judge

[disputes]’), and carries the implications of “unjudged”, “untried”, and “not giving judgment”.535 Similarly, δίκη may be translated not only as “judgment”, but also

“lawsuit”, “trial”, and “justice”. Despite the variance in interpretations, all of these possible translations lend support to a reading of Peleus’ accusations against Menelaus in relation to Cleon’s conceptions of justice and deliberation in the Mytilenean Debate.

Menelaus does, admittedly, advise Peleus not to be quick to anger since it achieves nothing. Forethought and consideration, he declares, bring profit (689-690).

Menelaus here, according to Lloyd, appropriates the political catchword προμηθία, which denotes cautious and rational conservatism.536 This is, of course, the direct opposite of what Cleon encourages in his speech to the assembly. Such a statement should not cause great difficulties, however, as it seems to me to be an example of the way that both

Menelaus and Cleon commonly misappropriate language for their own purposes,537 at times going so far as to make pronouncements that blatantly contradict their actions or

534 Cohen 1984: 46. 535 Stevens notes that most editors take ἄκριτα in the sense of ‘without trial’, citing the subsequent references to ‘summary execution’ in lines 550 (ἄνευ δίκης), 555 (τίνι δίκῃ), and 567 (τῷ δίκῃ) as support for this reading. Even the use of the verb μηχανᾶσθαι suggests “a plot, not a legal process” (1971: 163). 536 Lloyd 2005: 147. 537 See Chapter 5.1.3 for more on the misidentification by Menelaus, and Cleon, especially, of the justness of their causes.

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previous assertions.538 Menelaus’ words here display a trace of irony, not uncommon for

Euripides, since Peleus’ involvement is only necessitated by the Spartan general’s excessive reaction and unwarranted interference.539 Indeed, this declaration should be interpreted rather as evidence of Menelaus’ objective, which is to protect his own interests.540 This notion will be revisited when considering the justice vs. interest antinomy below.

Worth noting, although not uttered by a Spartan character, are the words sung by the chorus in the second stasimon. We have already seen in Chapter 2.4 how their words apply to the theme of marriage pervasive through the tragedy. Here we draw particular attention to the observations uttered on governance. As Lloyd has remarked, the lyrics strongly parallel Cleon’s ideas about leadership.541 Following Andromache’s departure from the altar of Thetis, the chorus begin an ode on the perils of ‘doubles’ (465-500).542

They sing of the negative consequences of double marriages (δίδυμα λέκτρα), twofold rule (δίπτυχοι τυραννίδες) and, in the third stanza, they proclaim (479-485):

πνοαὶ δ᾽ ὅταν φέρωσι ναυτίλους θοαί, κατὰ πηδαλίων δίδυμαι πραπίδων γνῶμαι σοφῶν τε πλῆθος ἀθρόον ἀσθενέστερον φαυλοτέρας φρενὸς αὐτοκρατοῦς.

538 Consider, for example, Cleon’s summation. He tells the assembly that, “if you follow my advice you will do what is just toward the Mytileneans, and at the same time expedient; while by a different decision you will not oblige them so much as pass sentence upon yourselves. For if they were right in rebelling, you must be wrong in ruling” (3.40.4). Macleod identifies this argument as a “basic self-contradiction: while arguing that to punish Mytilene is both just and expedient he has to admit that the Athenian empire is unjust” (1983: 72). Hornblower also notes an inconsistency, since Cleon had already (37.2) referred to the empire as a tyranny (CT 1.431). 539 On irony in Euripides, see Vellacott 1975. 540 The forethought of which Menelaus speaks, of course, refers purely to the consideration of his own interests and not any regard for the welfare of others (cf. Norwood 1906). 541 Lloyd 2005: 136. 542 Stevens previously spoke of the second and third stanzas as having “little relevance to the dramatic situation”. Only the opening and closing stanzas, to his mind, are “directly relevant to this play” (1971: 151). Allan has since demonstrated the significance of the entire stasimon to both the historical and dramatic contexts (2000: 212-215).

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ἑνὸς ἄρ᾽ἄνυσις ἀνά τε μέλαθρα κατά τε πόλιας, ὁπόταν εὐρεῖν θέλωσι καιρόν.

When swift breezes carry sailors along, twofold judgement of minds at the helm and a multitude of experts crowded together is weaker than an inferior mind with absolute power. Accomplishment of affairs both in the home and in the city belongs to a single person, whenever people wish to find their advantage.

The chorus profess an opinion similar to that of Cleon about who should govern the state.

The very first statement Cleon makes to the Assembly is an assertion on the ineffectiveness of democracy in governing others.543 Here, too, the chorus make a case for an undemocratic form of government, declaring an autocratic ruler best. Both specifically use the same adjective to describe the sort of individuals who should manage public affairs (φαυλότεροι, Thuc. 3.37.3; φαυλοτέρας φρενὸς, Eur. Andr. 482).544 These men are set in direct contrast to the learned (σοφώτεροι, Thuc. 3.37.3; σοφῶν, Eur. Andr.

481), who Cleon and the chorus claim are less effective (ὠφελιμώτερον, Thuc. 3.37.3;

ἀσθενέστερον, Eur. Andr. 481). Allan remarks on the appropriateness of the chorus’ approval of monarchy in the context of the heroic world of the play.545 While I agree, I think that the point should not be pressed too hard. Indeed, Lloyd notes the manipulation of anti-democratic rhetoric in the ode, directly comparing this section of the play to

Cleon’s arguments in the Mytilenean debate. Generally, Lloyd explains, “it is the mob which is stupid and unruly, while intelligence belongs to the one or to the few”.546 In this

543 Cf. Thuc. 3.37.1: πολλάκις μὲν ἤδη ἔγωγε καὶ ἄλλοτε ἔγνων δημοκρατίαν ὅτι ἀδύνατόν ἐστιν ἑτέρων ἄρχειν (‘Many times before now, I have felt that a democracy is incapable of ruling others’.). 544 Cf. HCT 2.300 on chapter 3.37.3, “Euripides has something like this in Andromache (probably written about this time)”. 545 Allan 2000: 213. 546 Lloyd 2005: 136.

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way, these sentiments, though they are expressed by the chorus of Phthian women and not Menelaus or Hermione, nevertheless contribute to the play’s underlying commentary on Athens’ imperialist position through direct interplay with ideas found in the speech of

Cleon.

5.2.2: Revenge vs. Moderation

The excessively harsh penalty approved by the Athenian citizens was the very reason they wished to hold a second assembly on the fate of the Mytileneans, a penalty which resulted directly from the rashness of the original meeting. Unsurprisingly, then, the revenge vs. moderation antinomy can be clearly detected in the manner of punishment that Cleon advocates in the Athenian Assembly.547 Perhaps one of the clearest examples of Cleon’s predilection for revenge instead of moderation can be found at 3.38, a passage already examined in support of his partiality to haste over calculation. He wonders at those who wished to revisit the decision against the Mytileneans, thereby causing a delay in the exactment of justice. This sort of delay, he insists, works in favour of the guilty parties, since “the sufferer proceeds against the perpetrator when his passion has been dulled, but revenge coming as soon after the injury as possible exacts the most equal repayment” (3.38.1). In these lines, Cleon unambiguously calls the punishment which he is promoting τιμωρίαν, retribution or vengeance, a noun which the LSJ describes as

“differing from κόλασις, corrective punishment”. In his eyes, the Mytileneans are simply wrongdoers who need to be punished and he speaks repeatedly of repaying them as they deserve (κολασθέντων δὲ καὶ νῦν ἀξίως τῆς ἀδικίας, ‘as for now, let their punishment be

547 Macleod sees Cleon and Diodotus as representing two alternative types of policy, which he terms force and indulgence, respectively (1983: 68). Although indulgence may be too generous a word for the treatment of Mytilene that Diodotus promotes, it is nevertheless possible to see a correlation between Macleod’s antitheses and Cohen’s revenge vs. moderation antinomy.

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everything their crime deserves’, 3.39.6; τῇ τε αὐτῇ ζημίᾳ ἀξιώσατε ἀμύνασθαι, ‘resolve to defend yourselves by this same penalty’, 3.40.5; κολάσατε δὲ ἀξίως τούτους, ‘punish them now as they deserve’, 3.40.7). His idea of appropriate punishment, however, belongs to a retributive view of justice, whereby the prescribed penalty has more to do with revenge than a restoration of order and restitution of justice. Athens should not acquit the people, he argues, condemning only the aristocracy responsible for the rebellion (3.39.6), since it is ‘likely’548 that the Mytileneans, had they been victorious, would have punished the Athenians just as severely (3.40.5). This argument, however, is not grounded in the facts of the situation and would instead have the Athenians exact a penalty from the Mytileneans based only upon speculations of what might have happened, were the roles reversed.

In the closing paragraphs of his speech, Cleon once again tries to rouse the Athenians to desire revenge, and says that they ought, rightly or wrongly, to punish the Mytileneans

(3.40.4). Preceding his peroration, he betrays part of the real motivation behind his proposal, reiterating an earlier argument in more explicit terms (3.40.6):

μάλιστα δὲ οἱ μὴ ξὺν προφάσει τινὰ κακῶς ποιοῦντες ἐπεξέρχονται καὶ διολλύνα, τὸν κίνδυνον ὑφορώμενοι τοῦ ὑπολειπομένου ἐχθροῦ· ὁ γὰρ μὴ ξὺν ἀνάγκῃ τι παθὼν χαλεπώτερος διαφυγὼν τοῦ ἀπὸ τῆς ἴσης ἐχθροῦ.

It is above all those who wrong someone for no reason who carry aggression to the point of annihilation, wary of anything left of the enemy; for after his escape, the victim of injury without cause is more ruthless than a regular enemy.

548 The Greek here is εἰκός, which Gomme translates as ‘equity’, noting that it is often opposed to “strict legal justice” (HCT 2.311). He links this term with Cleon’s use of τὰ δίκαια a few lines prior. As Gomme sees it, “Kleon emphasizes the justice of his cause, which in him includes and is confused with its legal correctness” (HCT 2.310). This point ties in with the final antinomy, justice vs. interest, discussed further in Chapter 5.1.3.

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His words are meant to implicate the Mytileneans, but, in reality, are better suited to the policy for which he advocates. Cleon’s position is clear; the Athenians should punish the entire city of Mytilene as it would be unwise to spare any individual who could seek his own revenge against them in the future. He plainly states that pity, sentiment, and indulgence are fatal to empire (3.40.2). Indeed, quite the opposite, he advises the

Athenians that they ought to use this opportunity to make an example out of the

Mytileneans to their other allies, who may consider revolting from Athens. If they demonstrate to others that the punishment for rebellion is death, they will less often have to deal with unruly allies (3.40.7). As before, however, Cleon’s arguments rely on conjecture: punish all Mytileneans for what they likely would have done or for what any survivor may do in the future. His proposition demands retaliation, ‘an eye for an eye’, but several of the actions for which he wishes to exact revenge are merely theoretical. It is precisely this line of reasoning that exposes his proposed punishment as irrational, extreme, and vengeful.

As in the Mytilenean Debate, the punishment that Menelaus wishes to obtain against Andromache is deemed by others to be too extreme. Indeed, the chorus admit that they feel pity for Andromache (οἰκτροτάτα γὰρ ἔμοιγ᾽ ἔμολες, γύναι Ἰλιάς, οἴκους

δεσποτᾶν ἐμῶν, ‘you came to the house of my masters, Trojan lady, most pitiable, in my eyes’, 141-142; ᾤκτιρ᾽ ἀκούσασ᾽· οἰκτρὰ γὰρ τὰ δυστυχῆ βροτοῖς ἅμασι, κἂν θυραῖος ὢν

κυρῆ, ‘I hear and pity you: for misfortune is pitiable to all mortals, even if it happens to be a stranger’s’, 421-422). Although they realize that the situation is unjust, they believe her plight to be indissoluble (δύσλυτος, 121) and choose not to try to intervene on account of fear of Hermione (142-144). Instead they take on the role of arbitrator, urging

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Menelaus and Hermione to take pity on Andromache, or come to terms with her, a plea which they both refuse (δέσποιν᾽, ὅσον σοι ῥᾳδἰως παρίσταται, τοσόνδε πείθου τῇδε

συμβῆναι λόγοις, 232-233; εἰς ξύμβασιν δὲ χρῆν σε παῖδα σὴν ἄγειν, 423).549

Menelaus clearly believes that his reactions in every situation are always appropriate. He boasts of his temperate nature when he elected to spare Helen’s life

(ἐσωφρόνουν, 685-687), and even suggests that it is Peleus’ disposition that is more likely to give into anger irrationally. It is evident that Menelaus considers his treatment of

Andromache to be reasonable, as he equates her punishment with sensibility. Before exiting the stage, he instructs Peleus that, (740-743):

κἄν μὲν κολάζῃ τήνδε καὶ τὸ λοιπὸν ᾖ σώφρων καθ’ ἡμᾶς, σώφρον᾽ ἀντιλήψεται, θυμούνεμος δὲ τεύξεται θυμουμένων [ἔργοισι δ᾽ ἔργα διάδοχ’ἀντιλήψεται].

if [Neoptolemus] punishes this woman and is reasonable toward me in the future, he will receive reasonable behaviour in return; but if he behaves angrily, he will meet with angry behaviour [and in return for his actions he will receive appropriate actions].

Menelaus’ opinions on how to act toward a philos are reminiscent of Cleon’s concept of proper conduct toward Athens’ allies, the Mytileneans. They each express a similar notion of retributive behaviour, whereby one ought to repay like with like. Menelaus speaks of Neoptolemus as ‘receiving in return’ (ἀντιλαμβάνω), and Cleon, when he advises the Athenians not to show compassion to any Mytilenean, explains that they do not owe them any because the Mytileneans cannot give compassion in return (ἔλεός τε

γὰρ πρὸς τοὺς ὁμοίους δίκαιος ἀντιδίδοσθαι, ‘compassion is a fair reaction toward one’s own kind’, 3.40.3).

549 See Bauslaugh 1991: 54-56 on the Greek practice of arbitration of interstate disputes, evidence of which dates as far back as the eighth century BCE.

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This type of vocabulary expresses a tone of reciprocity. The use of the verbal prefix anti- in particular conveys that the reciprocated action mirrors an act that had already occurred. Crane, in his discussion of the Mytileneans’ speech at Thucydides 3.9-

14, points out that the nature of the verbs with anti- prefixes that are used

(ἀνταναμείναντες, ἀντεπιβουλεῦσαι, ἀντιμελλῆσαι, 3.12.2-3) indicates the perverted model of friendship and reciprocity to which they adhere. Although the Mytileneans speak in terms of friendship, using “the linguistic tags of reciprocal action, [in actuality,] they have turned the spirit of friendship upside down”.550 This idea naturally corresponds with the famous passage from the Corcyrean revolt in which Thucydides describes how words, and as a result, relationships, took on new meaning (3.82.4). The Hecuba, which was likely produced not long after the Mytilenean revolt and Corcyrean civil war,551 is perhaps a more common example of the themes of Thucydides’ Book 3 depicted on the tragic stage and of Euripides’ engagement with such contemporary issues.552 Yet a distortion of friendship and reciprocal action similar to that seen in the Mytilenean episode and the Hecuba is also present in the words of Menelaus. Rather than exhibiting positive reciprocity,553 as one would expect, by displaying cooperative reciprocal tendencies, he behaves in a retaliatory manner, that is, he tries to get back at and cause harm toward his philoi.554

550 Crane 1998: 179. 551 Like the Andromache, the date of the Hecuba is uncertain. It is typically dated to the year 425-424 BCE, based on contemporary evidence. Aristophanes’ Clouds, performed in 423, parodies a line from the play. In addition, line 462 of the tragedy makes reference to the establishment of the Delian Games by the Athenians in 426. See, for example, Sfyroeras 2010. 552 See Hogan 1972; Reckford 1991. 553 Also called balanced or symmetrical reciprocity. See Sahlins 1972: 194-195. 554 This type of behaviour is known as negative reciprocity.

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Menelaus deems it necessary to kill not only Andromache for her crimes but also her young son. Using deceit, he tricks Andromache into leaving her suppliant position, claiming that if she submits to death, her child will be spared (381). Once she has left the altar, he divulges his true intentions, revealing that he will leave the fate of the boy up to his daughter, Hermione (430-432). When Andromache condemns his use of trickery

Menelaus readily admits to it (435-436). He even goes so far as to assert that his actions are a demonstration of intellect, since “[wisdom is] for those who have been injured to retaliate” (τοὺς παθόντας ἀντιδρᾶν, 438).555 Reiterating Cleon’s justification for putting to death the entire population of Mytilene, Menelaus defends the death sentence against the young child with the following words (515-522):

ἴθ᾽ ὑποχθόνιοι· καὶ γὰρ ἀπ᾽ ἐχθῶν ἥκετε πύργων, δύο δ᾽ ἐκ δισσαῖν θνῄσκετ᾽ ἀνάγκαιν. σὲ μὲν ἡμετέρα ψῆφος ἀναιρεῖ, παῖδα δ᾽ἐμὴ παῖς τόνδε Ἑρμιόνη· καὶ γὰρ ἀνοία μεγάλη λείπειν ἐχθροὺς ἐχθρῶν, ἐξὸν κτείνειν καὶ φόβον οἴκων ἀφελέσθαι.

Go under the earth; for you have come from enemy towers, and the two of you by twofold556 necessities die: my vote destroys you, and my daughter Hermione destroys this child. For it is indeed great folly to leave behind enemies descended from enemies, if it is possible to kill them and take fear away from your house.

555 Hornblower notes that at Thuc. 3.38.2 Cleon’s use of phrases like ὁ παθὼν and τῷ δράσαντι share many resemblances to ideas of retaliatory justice, ideas that can be found especially in contemporary tragedy, as seen in this passage of Euripides. He cites Aeschyus’ Choephoroi as an example of the exact combination of δράσαντι παθεῖν (CT 1.425). See also Winnington-Ingram (1965): 72f. 556 The use of repetition was a frequently used device in Greek writing. Lloyd views Menelaus as using reiteration to demonstrate “the illusion of appropriateness” to the slaughter (2005: 139).

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Lloyd describes lines 519-522 as “a version of a common proverb”, as is corroborated by its repetition across multiple sources.557 Yet the many similarities between the attitudes of

Menelaus and Cleon throughout the Andromache and the Mytilenean Debate suggest to me that a stronger correlation can be made between the two sources. That both men use the same proverb demonstrates the likeness of their beliefs on retribution and interstate relations.

Menelaus’ decision to kill not only Andromache, the alleged guilty party, but also her child (or to leave it up to his daughter, who has made her intentions for Andromache and the boy clear earlier in the play), parallels Cleon’s insistence that Athens ought to put to death not only the Mytileneans who orchestrated the revolt, but all inhabitants of

Mytilene. Orwin characterizes vengeance as seeking punitive damages. Vengeance, he maintains, aims to “inflict on the offender a grief greater than that by him inflicted”.558

Indeed, this is precisely what the proposed punishments of Menelaus and Cleon seek to impose. Both desire greater bloodshed and violence than the deeds that (they claim) were perpetuated against them.

5.2.3: Justice vs. Interest

Cleon and Menelaus each consider the punishment they wish exacted against the guilty parties to be the just course of action. For this reason, Cohen’s final aetimony, justice vs. interest, is closely connected to the theme of revenge and moderation; indeed,

557 Lloyd 2005: 139. Stevens also mentions the proverbial nature of the sentiment (1971: 160-161). Cf. Cypria fr. 31 West; Hdt. 1.155.1; 4.69.1; Eur. Heracl. 1000-8; Hec. 1138-44; HF 168-9; Tro. 723; Arist. Rh. 1376a6, 1395a16. It is telling that, in the plays of Euripides, the proverb is always spoken by an antagonist. Consider when, in the Heracleidae, Eurystheus speaks of his efforts to kill the children of Heracles; in the Hecuba, Polymestor, who succeeds in killing Polydorus, describes his motivation as fear; in the Heracles, Lycus pursues the children of Heracles to prevent them from taking revenge on him later in life; lastly, in the Trojan Women, it is Odysseus who convinces the Greek army that Astyanax must be hurled from the battlements. 558 Orwin 1984: 487.

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as it has already been demonstrated, there is significant overlap between all three sets of themes.559 Scholars, such as Winnington-Ingram and Macleod, have found difficulties in reconciling Cleon’s appeals to justice with his identification of the empire as a tyranny, believing that such a classification nullifies any argument based on justice (3.37.2).

Hornblower dismisses these discrepancies, by explaining that, “the inconsistency in

Kleon’s position will seem less if we accept that his is a simple retributivist view of justice”.560 Indeed, Cleon’s language falls squarely into the vocabulary of the criminal law and he characterizes the Mytileneans again and again as criminals.561 On several occasions throughout his speech, Cleon describes the Mytileneans or their supposed crimes with the words ἀδικέω and ἀδικία, which, at their most basic level, indicate action that is ‘not just’.562 By using phrases such as this, he inherently represents his own position and actions as ones that are just. Yet although his rhetoric makes it sound as though his primary focus is achieving a just outcome, as Gomme observes, he seems to confuse justice with legal correctness.563 His language actually reveals a concern for what course of action will best serve Athens’ interests, as is evidenced in his summation, when he tells the Athenians, “do not, therefore, be traitors to yourselves” (μὴ οὖν προδόται

γένησθε ὑμῶν αὐτῶν, 3.40.7). This statement strongly suggests that if they do not follow his recommendation, they will be acting against their own interests.

559 Consider, for example, Cohen’s description of Cleon’s tactic, which, he says, relates “appeals to justice to a crude judicial model of political decision-making based upon punishing wrongdoers by taking revenge in haste and anger without anger or calculation” (1984: 46, emphasis added). 560 CT 1.422-3 contra Winnington-Ingram (1965: 76) and Macleod (1983: 71). See also Orwin: “By justice Kleon means just retribution, an eye for an eye” (1984: 487). 561 He repeatedly uses terms for injury, intentional and unintentional offences, punishment. Cf. Cohen 1984: 47. 562 τῶν ἠδικηκότων (3.38.1), τὰς ἀδικὶας (3.38.1), ἠδικηκότας (3.39.1), ἀδικούμενοι (3.39.3), τῆς ἀδικίας (3.39.6), ἀδικὶας (3.40.5). 563 See above, n. 550. Macleod likewise identifies Cleon’s arguments as putting forward a case for “summary and retaliatory, not legal, justice” (1983: 69).

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In the opening of his speech Cleon upbraids the Athenians for mistakes made as a result either of listening to the appeals of allies or being swayed by compassion. These errors, he cautions, are dangerous to them and, what is more, their weakness will not earn them any appreciation from their allies (οὐκ ἐπικινδύνως ἡγεῖσθε ἐς ὑμᾶς καὶ οὐκ ἐς τὴν

τῶν ξυμμάχων χάριν μαλακίζεσθαι, 3.37.2). Thucydides’ inclusion of the term charis is significant. Scholars have previously observed similarities in phrases uttered by Cleon to the speeches of Pericles.564 Cleon’s utilization of such phrases, however, is employed to support arguments that stand in direct contrast to the ideas presented by Pericles.565 Here the mention of favours and gratitude from the Athenians’ allies recalls an often-quoted section of Pericles’ funeral oration in Book 2. Speaking about Athens’ foreign policy,

Pericles states that the Athenians are unique in acquiring friends by bestowing rather than receiving favours (2.40.4), an idea that is expressed in traditional suppliant drama as well.

He goes on to proclaim that Athens alone offers benefits to others not from calculations of expediency and without fear of negative consequences (καὶ μόνοι οὐ τοῦ ξυμφέροντος

μᾶλλον λογισμῷ ἢ τῆς ἐλευθερίας τῷ πιστῷ ἀδεῶς τινὰ ὠφελοῦμεν, 2.40.5). Gomme explains Pericles’ words as indicating that the Athenians perform favours “without being anxious always about the result, whether [they] reap the benefit of gratitude of not”.566

Marchant, likewise, in a note on ἀδεῶς, paraphrases, “without fear, lest, by helping

564 Cleon perhaps most famously echoes Pericles at 37.2 where he refers to the Athenian empire as a tyranny (cf. 2.63.2). For more on the parallels between the speeches of Cleon and Pericles see Andrewes 1962: esp. 75-79; Cairns 1982; Connor 1971: 119-34. 565 For example, Pericles had claimed that Athenians had respect for the laws (2.37.3), whether written or unwritten, and that they excel at deliberation (2.40.3). Cleon, conversely, argues against the Athenian characteristics about which Pericles boasted. He finds fault with the processes of democratic deliberation, wishing to deny civic rights to those Athenians who are constantly attempting to be ‘cleverer than the laws’ (3.37.3-4). 566 HCT 2.124.

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others, [they] should be injuring [themselves]”.567 Cleon, however, in marked contrast, advises the Athenians that ἐπιείκεια (equity, fairness, virtuousness) ought only to be demonstrated toward those who will be friends to Athens in the future (3.40.3). Notably,

Thucydides has Cleon use the term τοὺς ἐπιτηδείους as friends here, a word whose meanings also include ‘made for an end or purpose’, ‘useful’, and ‘serviceable’.568 Unlike

Pericles, then, Cleon would seem to suggest to his audience that kindnesses ought only to be extended to those who may one day prove useful to Athens. The implications of his word choices once again betray the true motivations of his proposal, that is, to decide the fate of the Mytileneans in a way that best serves Athenian interests.

Both Cleon and Diodotus appeal to expediency in order to persuade the Athenian

Assembly; neither appeals to pity.569 Of the two speeches, however, only Cleon’s makes use of arguments based on justice.570 Predictably, scholars have questioned Diodotus’ focus on expediency, since “it is Cleon who argues for justice while advocating the destruction of Mytilene, whereas Diodotus advocates what seems to be truly just, but relies purely on considerations of interest”.571 Andrewes accurately accounts for the content of Diodotus’ speech. As he explains, “it has been thought especially significant that Diodotos, opposing Kleon’s brutal insistence on Athens’ self-interest, should present his own case entirely in terms of expediency. But Diodotos’ speech is conditioned by

567 Marchant 1891. 568 See above, n. 189. 569 Hornblower points out that, while pity does not factor into the two speeches Thucydides presents, other speakers would likely have appealed to it (CT 1.421). For analysis on pity in the Greek world see Sternberg (2005) and Konstan (2001). More specifically, for its role in political deliberation, see Konstan (2005). 570 Diodotus rarely mentions the justice or injustice of putting to death the Mytileneans. Towards the close of his speech, however, he does instruct the Athenians that it would be unjust to kill their benefactors (3.47.3) and goes so far as to state that it is in the best interests of the Athenian empire to keep the Mytileneans alive, however justly it would be to put them to death (3.47.5). 571 Cohen 1984: 51.

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Kleon’s.”572 Diodotus’ speech responds to the points raised by Cleon; since Cleon seeks to dissuade the assembly with claims that his proposal is both just and expedient,573

Diodotus is unable to rely on arguments about pity or the injustice or cruelty of his opponent’s proposition. Instead, he must persuade the Athenians that his proposal is the most advantageous.

Andromache, like Diodotus, recognizes that, although she has justice on her side

(πόλλ᾽ ἔχουσαν ἔνδικα, 187), she cannot simply rely on such arguments in order to persuade her opponent. Instead, she appeals to Menelaus’ concern for his own interests by describing the negative effects his actions will have on himself and his family. She speaks of the pollution of murder that will stain Hermione and him, declares that

Hermione will be discarded, and reminds him of the terrible evils all of this will bring upon him (334-352). Even so, Menelaus is not persuaded, despite seemingly agreeing with Andromache. He declares the loss of one’s husband of the greatest significance, likening it to a loss of one’s own life, and the very reason for which he has come to his daughter as an ally (370-373). Menelaus maintains that his actions toward Andromache are right and just, since he is a man who hates injustice (666-667) and, moreover, it is just to help one’s own (οὔκουν δίκαιον τοῖς γ᾽ ἐμοῖς ἐπωφελεῖν, 677).574

The characters of the Andromache make use of legal language on many occasions, yet there is a clear difference in the subtext of the words of the Spartans and their Thessalian and Trojan counterparts. The impressive rhetoric of Andromache’s

572 Andrewes 1962: 72. 573 He summarizes his speech, stating, “I will sum up with one statement: by following me, you will act both justly and expediently toward the Mytileneans” (ἕν τε ξυνελὼν λέγω· πιθόμενοι μὲν ἐμοὶ τά τε δίκαια ἐς Μυτιληναίους τὰ ξῦμφορα ἅμα ποιήσετε, 3.40.4). 574 Cleon’s language about retaliatory justice also recalls the traditional heroic notion of ‘doing good to one’s friends and harm to one’s enemies’, as Menelaus’ own words here suggest. Cf. Winnington-Ingram 1965: 73.

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speeches has already been noted. Allan describes her reply to Hermione at 184f. as being worthy of the lawcourts. She approaches the charges laid against her now by Hermione and Menelaus later with the technical precision of an experienced attorney; her defense is couched in legal terms which bring to mind forensic discourse.575 Allan observes a similar pattern in the Hippolytus, when the titular character defends himself against the accusations of his father Theseus. As he describes, “the legal atmosphere makes the perversion of justice more marked”, and the same certainly applies to the Andromache.576

Menelaus makes repeated reference to the alleged crimes of Andromache (σῆς

ἁμαρτίας, ἁμαρτάνεις, 316-318; ὑβρίζειν, 433-434) and when he delivers his sentence to

Andromache and her child, he does so with the vocabulary of a legal judgment: “the two of you die from two necessities: my vote destroys you, and my daughter Hermione destroys this child” (516-519).577 Despite all attempts at a semblance of legality and justice, however, it is clear that Menelaus’ actions are intended to supplement his self- interest.578 Likewise, as in the case of Cleon and the Mytileneans, Menelaus’ claims to justice are conflated with a desire for revenge, as we have seen above. His true motives are revealed when Andromache offers to submit willingly to proper procedures and to go on trial for the accusations against her (355-360). Menelaus utterly dismisses her proposal. The duplicity of Menelaus and Hermione’s claims is further demonstrated by

575 Allan 2000: 132-133. Focusing on the proem alone of Andromache’s speech, Allan calls to mind her use of the words ὄφλω βλάβην (188) ἁλώσομαι (191) and ἐχεγγύῳ λόγῳ (192). 576 ibid., 133. 577 δύο δ’ ἐκ δισσαῖν θνήσκετ’ ἀνάγκαιν· σὲ μὲν ἡμετέρα ψῆρος ἀναιρεῖ, παῖδα δ’ ἐμὴ παῖς τόνδ’ Ἑρμιόνη. On the use of the numerical repetition see Stevens (1971: 160) and Lloyd (2005: 139), who suggests that Menelaus uses this literary device in order to give the illusion of appropriateness to his actions. 578 Allan describes Menelaus’ language at 517-519 as an attempt to mask the violence of the murders “with a specious hint at legality” (2000: 141).

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the observations of the other characters in the play, all of whom note the injustice, illegality, or criminality of the situation.579

The few instances of the terms δίκαιος in the Andromache signal to the audience that they ought not take words at their face value. Two of the four examples are used by

Menelaus himself to describe the supposed validity of his actions against Andromache and the house of Peleus, as we have seen above (667, 677). At an earlier stage of the play,

Andromache applies the term, indirectly, to Hermione, when she considers the terrible impact a youth, especially one who is unjust (μὴ δίκαιον, 185), has upon mankind. The last example is uttered in the final act of the tragedy, as the Messenger describes the fate of Neoptolemus. Spoken in a clearly sarcastic tone, he concludes his speech with the following words (1161-65):

τοιαῦθ’ ὁ τοῖς ἄλλοισι θεσπίζων ἄναξ, ὁ τῶν δικαίων πᾶσιν ἀνθρώποις κριτής, δίκας580 διδόντα παῖδ’ ἔδρασ’ Ἀχιλλέως. ἐμνημόνευσε δ’ ὥσπερ ἄνθρωπος κακὸς παλαιὰ νείκη· πῶς ἂν οὖν εἴη σοφός;

Such is what the lord who prophesies to others, he who is judge of what is right for all mankind, did to the son of Achilles when he offered amends. Like a base morl, he remembered old quarrels. How then can he be wise?

579 Andromache: τὸ μὴ δίκαιον (185), οὔτε τῳ δίκῃ κρίναντες (567-568); Chorus: ἄθεος ἄνομος ἄχαρις ὁ φόνος (491), ψήφῳ θανάτου κατακεκριμένον...οὐδ’ αἴτιος ὢν (495-500); Peleus: τί πράσσετ’ ἄκριτα μηχανώμενοι...μὴ τάχυν’ ἄνευ δίκης (549-550); Nurse: κτείνουσα τοὺς οὐ χρὴ κτανεῖν (810), ἐς γυναῖκα Τρῳάδ’ ἐξημάρτανες (867); Hermione: κᾆτ’ ἔγωγ’ ἠμυνάμην (910); Orestes: πῶς οὖν τάδ’, ὡς εἴποι τις, ἐξημάρτανες (929). 580 It should be noted that there are many more occurrences of the noun δίκη in the Andromache, yet these examples, as is the case here, more frequently convey definitions based in law and order, such as ‘punishment’, ‘atonement’, ‘charge’ or ‘trial’, as opposed to denoting justice and morality. Cf. 51, 53, 358, 439, 550, 555, 567, 1002, 1004, 1107, 1108. It should be added, however, that both sets of meanings are linked intrinsically, and so often the use of the noun carries the implications of both aspects of its possible definitions. As an exception to this observation, the choral ode at 779-787 includes three instances of δίκη, all of which are clearly intended to express the meaning ‘justice’.

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The juxtaposition of the terms τῶν δικαίων and δίκας διδόντα work to emphasize the injustice of Neoptolemus’ treatment at the hands of Apollo, who is traditionally supposed to be an ‘arbiter of justice’.581 The underlying implication of the Messenger’s words is that even the actions of a god who purports to be an authority on justice are not just. Like

Menelaus and Hermione, Apollo’s behavior is touted as good and right but is arguably influenced more by personal motives.582 Both here and elsewhere in the Andromache, the confused applications of the term ‘justice’ recall another famous passage from Book 3 of the Histories. In his description of stasis and its effects, Thucydides remarks upon the way in which terms changed their customary meanings.583 Recklessness became identified with courage, moderation with cowardliness, frantic violence with manliness

(3.82.4). The cause of these changes, Thucydides explains, was greed and ambition, which led to men taking vengeance that went beyond what was just.584 Perhaps to this list, then, we might add that self-interest came to be considered justice.

Menelaus may claim to despise injustice, but, like Cleon, his words seem to confuse justice with legal correctness, even though his actions are neither morally nor legally sanctioned. He tells Andromache that, “it is right that [Neoptolemus] rule over my

581 Allan 2000: 254. Cf. Stevens 1971: 234. Davies describes Apollo’s role in literature as “the patron, or direct author, of laws and of a moral order” (1997: 47). The negative portrayal of Apollo and Delphi has additional relevance to the historical context of the play and its ideological stance toward Sparta. Allan points out that the Andromache’s criticisms of Delphi should be viewed in light of the oracle’s Spartan sympathies (2000: 154-157). 582 On Apollo’s treatment of Neoptolemus and Euripides’ handling of the gods see: Burnett 1971: 151-153; Kovacs 1980: 78-80; Erbse 1984: 134; Sourvinou-Inwood 2003: 332-338; Allan 2000: 233-266. 583 Cohen expertly demonstrates how Thucydides’ description of stasis also relates directly to the Mytilenean debate as a whole and more specifically to the approaches taken by Cleon and Diodotus toward deliberation and debate (1984: 57-59). The passage of Thucydides also recalls the words of the chorus at 779-787. 584 Thuc. 3.82.8: πάντων δ’ αὐτῶν αἴτιον ἀρχὴ ἡ διὰ πλεονεξίαν καὶ φιλοτιμίαν […] ἐτόλημησάν τε τὰ δεινότατα ἐπεξῃσάν τε τὰς τιμωρίας ἔτι μείζους, οὐ μέχρι τοῦ δικαίου καὶ τῃ πόλει ξυμφόρου προτιθέντες (‘All this was caused by leadership based on greed and ambition […] [they] boldly committed atrocities and proceeded to still worse acts of revenge, stopping at limits set by neither justice nor the city’s interest.’).

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slaves, and right that my kin – and I myself – as well rule over his” (δούλων δ᾽ ἐκεῖνον

τῶν ἐμῶν ἄρχειν χρεὼν καὶ τῶν ἐκείνου τοὺς ἐμούς, ἡμᾶς τε πρός, 374-375). He talks in terms of necessity (χρεὼν). Less frequently, however, χρεὼν contains implications of pragmatism, denoting that which is expedient. Menelaus speaks as though he must be involved in the management of his son-in-law’s slaves, but his language betrays the fact that his actions are dictated by self-interest. Indeed, immediately following this statement,

Menelaus goes on to observe that he would be φαῦλός, careless, and οὐ σοφός, unwise, if he were not to set his own affairs in the best possible order (378-379). Another sense of the word φαῦλος is ‘inefficient’. This connotation, coupled with his argument in favour of arranging his affairs in the best, or even, most useful, way possible, speaks volumes about Menelaus’ motivations for his actions.

In reality, from a legal and technical standpoint, he does not have the right to punish Andromache for any alleged crimes. In Greece an enslaved person was considered to be part of the property of the oikos and this property belonged to the kurios of the family.585 According to fifth-century Athenian law, if a person who was not their master harmed an enslaved person, charges for property damage could be filed.586 Moreover, if enslaved people were killed, the master was entitled to file a lawsuit for murder (the dike phonou; Isoc. 18.52, [Dem.] 59.9.).587 The accused, if found guilty in court, could be sentenced to exile (Dem. 23.72; [Dem.] 59.10). Contrary to his allegations, therefore, it

585 The Athenian oikos was comprised of a great deal more than the physical household. It was envisioned as a collective, which included the house, individuals related by blood, marriage, or adoption, as well as the property possessed by the family, both immovables and movables, such as slaves. Cf. MacDowell 1989; Pomeroy 1996: 21-22. For a recent discussion of the rights and status of slaves in fifth-century Athens, see Kamen 2013, esp. ch. 1. 586 On the dike blabes, see Todd 1995: 279-282. Corporeal punishment was permissible by a master, although he was not supposed to kill the enslaved person (Ant. 5.47). 587 See Morrow 1937 and MacDowell 1963 on the murder of enslaved people.

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would be illegal according to classical Greek standards for Menelaus to inflict any amount of harm upon Andromache and her son.

Ultimately, the words of Cleon failed to persuade the Athenians and they voted to repeal their previous decision to kill all the inhabitants of Mytilene, just as Peleus, too, does not concede to Menelaus, but stands his ground and prevents the slaughter of

Andromache and her child. Yet Menelaus’ embodiment of Athenian real politics affords the Athenian audience members the opportunity to consider and reflect upon their own policies as leaders of an empire, an idea to which we will return at the close of this chapter.

The resemblances between the attitudes of Cleon and Menelaus situate the

Andromache within a larger framework of Greek tragedies, especially those performed during the first decade of the Peloponnesian War, which call into question Athens’ empire and its increasingly harsh foreign policies toward both allied and adversarial city- states.588 Engagement with contemporary political issues may not be as overt as in those dramas traditionally referred to as Euripides’ ‘political plays’; this is not overly surprising, as any explicit reference to Athens is absent from the tragedy. Indeed, the sort of political catchwords that are common in the Heracleidae or Suppliant Women, for example, are not found in the Andromache. Yet comparison of Spartan tendencies with events and themes from Thucydides’ Book 3 make clear that Euripidean drama, including the supposedly ‘non-political’ plays, such as the Andromache, as a product written by an

588 Papadopoulou refers to a “gradual degeneration of imperial hegemony” during the period in which Euripidean tragedy was produced (2011: 404).

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Athenian citizen, performed in Athens and for a primarily Athenian audience, cannot be separated from its social and historical context.589

5.3: Polypragmosyne: Positive vs. Negative Interventionism

I have just demonstrated how the portrayal of Menelaus in the Andromache calls into question the practices and policies of the Athenians as leaders of an empire equally as much as it challenges those of the Spartans leading up to and during the Peloponnesian

War. The Andromache also reflects one additional aspect of foreign policy for which the

Athenians were extremely well-known: interventionism.

It was not until the emergence of Athens as an imperial power that the distinction between ‘free’ and ‘enslaved’ became an important consideration in Greek interstate relations. Democratic ideals and their tyrannical antitheses were employed in Athenian discourse in order to reinforce a positive image of the Athenian empire. According to

Ehrenberg, nothing was of greater significance for the Greeks than the maintenance of political freedom, and it was largely for this reason that Athens’ allies and fellow-Greeks were so disgruntled about its increasingly imperialistic leadership of the Delian

League.590 In response to these unfamiliar conditions, a new set of vocabulary developed, which revealed an increased concern for independence and liberty.591 Among the new words that came into circulation were the terms polypragmosyne (interventionism, meddling) and its antithesis, apragmosyne (freedom from politics). The concept of

589 While the majority of audience members at the City Dionysia would have been Athenian, allies and foreigners would have also been in attendance. On the composition of the audience, see for example, Dawson 1997; Csapo and Slater 1994: 286-305; Goldhill 1997; Podlecki 1990. 590 Ehrenberg 1947: 48. The second stasimon in the Andromache touches upon this concern when the chorus sings that, “a double intelligence at the helm and a throng of wise men conjoined is not as effective as a lesser mind with full authority” (αὐτοκρατοῦς, 480-482). 591 Included in this new group of vocabulary are the terms autarchia and autonomia. Cf. Raaflaub 2004: 119. See Low 2007: 187-199 for a discussion of the definition of autonomia and how it pertains to the identity of the polis and interstate relations.

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polypragmosyne, as it was often construed both positively and negatively, depending on the interpreter and circumstances, is a particularly fruitful area of examination to supplement discussion of the twofold depiction of Athenian rule in Euripidean tragedy.592

Before turning to the employment of polypragmosyne in the Andromache, it will be beneficial to begin with a general overview of the concept and its treatment in other works and by different authors.593 There are very few direct references to the abstract noun in extant fifth-century texts (Thuc. 6.87.3; Ar. Ach. 833). References to the verbal form as well as the adjective/substantive are more frequent, though these occurrences are by no means what would be considered common.594 Despite this relative scarcity, there seems to be a relative consensus that polypragmosyne was a defining characteristic of fifth-century Athenian politics.595 Indeed, Leigh maintains that the behaviour that the

Athenian ambassador labels as polypragmosyne in Book 6 is in fact visible on numerous occasions throughout the whole of Thucydides’ Histories.596 Ehrenberg, too, has noted a correlation between Athenian empire and interventionism, observing that

592 I do not mean to imply that the two values are mutually exclusive. Indeed, I hope to make clear that, while some authors do straightforwardly offer either praise or censure, it is more often the case that both positive and negative aspects of polypragmosyne are discernable in our sources at the same time. 593 For a more thorough and recent analysis of the concept of polypragmosyne from its inception down to the Roman period see Leigh 2013, esp. 35-45. For analyses on the relationship between interventionism and the Athenian empire specifically, see Ehrenberg 1947; De Romilly 1963: 77-78; Kleve 1964; Huart 1968: 385-87; Adkins 1976; Allison 1979; Harding 1981; Whelan 1983; Carter 1986, esp. ch. 2; Brock 1998; and Visentin 1999: 48-50. 594 Allison observes, for example, that neither the term polypragmosyne nor any of its related forms can be found in the extant works of Pindar, Aeschylus, Sophocles, or Euripides (1979: 17). 595 Not all scholars are convinced of the centrality of the concept to Athenian politics. Allison (1979) rightly reminds that the two sole instances of the abstract noun in extant fifth-century texts do not seem to support such an interpretation. She does admit, however, that once the adjective/substantive and verb forms are taken into account, the image of Athenian politics that emerges is more consistent with such an outlook. One thing is clear; later authors call fifth-century Athenian foreign policy polypragmosyne (e.g. Plut. Vit. Per. 20.3-21, 21.1; Comp. Per. et Fab. 2.3; Isoc. De Pace). Cf. Leigh: “those who wrote about Athens in the late fifth century and, even more clearly, those who looked back on the history of the Athenian empire in later centuries, clearly thought about her treatment of other states under the heading of polypragmosyne” (2013: 38). 596 Leigh 2013: 36.

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polypragmosyne is “at the centre of three speeches [in Thucydides] in which Athenian imperialism is either attacked or defended”, namely the second speech of the Corinthians, the last speech of Pericles, and Alcibiades’ speech prior to the Sicilian Expedition.597

Herodotus is the earliest known author to reference the concept of polypragmosyne and its synonym polla prassein (Hdt. 3.15.2, 5.33.4).598 Both

Herodotean examples are employed in relation to the actions of barbarians and to individual, not state, interference. The former describes how the Egyptian pharaoh

Psammenitus lost his kingdom to the Persian king Cambyses. He had been unwilling to submit to Persian attacks and had not been wise enough not to interfere (μὴ

πολυπρημονέειν). Had he not meddled, Herodotus comments, he would have regained his rule, and so his polypragmosyne cost him his empire (and ultimately, his life). In the latter example, the Persian general Megabates is involved in an unsuccessful siege of the island Naxos. Herodotus’ account suggests that the failed attempt stemmed from an argument between the leader of the mission, the Milesian tyrant Aristagoras, and

Megabates. Megabates is accused of interfering with the leadership (πολλὰ πρήσσεις), rather than obeying orders, and so he allegedly warns the Naxians of the impending attack, resulting in its failure.599 These examples are demonstrative of the earliest

597 Ehrenberg 1947: 51. 598 ibid., 46. These meanings were uniquely characteristic of the Classical period. In the Hellenistic age the terms took on a different, more neutral, connotation, “void of any particular significance and confined to individual features of human nature which have no bearing upon anything of a more general character, whether political, social, or philosophical (ibid., 62; see, for example, Polyb. 2.13.3, 43.9, 45.6; 3.38.2, 58.5, 80.2; 5.75.6; 9.19.5; 12.27a.13). The noun pleonexia (greediness) is also used in connection with these terms. In contrast are the words apragmosyne and hesychia (rest, quiet). 599 At issue in this example is the expectation of deference to a superior (or one who considers themselves to be superior) from an inferior (see Adkins 1976: 305-307). Megabates, who does not defer to those in authority, is said to have meddled where he ought not have.

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implications of the term and they reveal the sense of meddling that was inherent to the idea.

The concept of polypragmosyne was not fixed and static but assumed various connotations as it evolved. As Leigh aptly summarizes, its significance was extremely specific to the time and place in which it was employed.600 Moreover, it could take on different meanings if used to refer to either state or individual polypragmosyne. State interventionism, according to Isocrates, entailed the pursuit of that which belongs to others.601 On the other hand, the individual polypragmon (in the fifth and fourth centuries) typically fell into one of two groups. The first was the busybody politician, who was so active in political matters that, instead of performing his civic duties, he seemed rather to be meddling. The second was the volunteer prosecutor/sycophant, who was eager to prosecute his fellow-citizens for any number of perceived wrongdoings.602

Despite these possible variations, polypragmosyne, both state and individual, was considered to be a uniquely Athenian character trait, as evidenced by the descriptions of authors writing during or about the fifth century.603

Apart from the variations in meaning when discussing state or individual interventionism, polypragmosyne could additionally be employed to produce a positive or a negative effect, depending on who was using the term.604 For Athens’ allies and

600 Leigh 2013: 53. 601 Isoc. 8.22, 26, 30, 96. 602 Leigh 2013: 23-26. 603 Thucydides’ Histories, for example, characterizes it primarily in this way (cf. Ehrenberg 1947: 47, “[i]t can be said with very little exaggeration that to Thucydides πολυπραγμοσύνη was something particularly Athenian.”). 604 Brock, for example, detects two versions of Athenian foreign policy in tragedy and oratory (1998: 234). One form criticizes Athens for favouring weak friends (Eur. Heracl. 176-178; Thuc. 6.13.2; Pl. Mx. 244e; Andoc. 3.28; Isoc. Paneg. 53; Lys. 2.12.); the other, in contrast, represents Athens’ beneficiaries as offering

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enemies, it was a pejorative word, and something for which Athens ought to be criticized.

These other Greek city-states viewed Athenian interventionism as unwelcome interference in their autonomy.605 In Thucydides Book 1, one of the primary complaints the Corinthians make against the Athenians is the accusation that they are incapable of remaining inactive and leaving others alone (1.68-71).606 Then again, in Book 6, when addressing the Sicilians prior to the Athenian expedition, Hermocrates describes the imminent Athenian intervention as a mere pretense so that they might launch an invasion of Sicilian land (6.33-34).

It was this pejorative version of Athenian polypragmosyne that the idealistic

Athenian suppliant plays and epitaphioi worked to combat. Despite the opinions of their subjects and allies, the Athenians sought to promote a flattering image of their interventionism in their patriotic discourse.607 In the eyes of the Athenians, polypragmosyne was a source of national pride. The concept formed the basis of their foreign policy, and was, therefore, a key component in the attainment – and, perhaps their gratitude (Soph. OC 1124-31; Eur. Heracl. 307-308, Supp. 1176-79; Aesch. Eum. 916-1020, Supp. 625-709). 605 The popularity of the Athenian empire is a highly contested question. Although many scholars previously assumed that Thucydides’ representation of Athenian rule as tyrannical reflected the opinion of most Greeks, the work of Jones (1953) and de Ste. Croix (1954) presented the new view that Athens’ allies and subjects generally welcomed its rule (see also Pleket 1963). Bradeen, taking issue with de Ste. Croix’s analysis, returns to the traditional view (1960). He argues instead that Greek states under Athens’ dominance, valuing freedom above all else, would seize the opportunity to reassert their independence, whenever presented with the chance (see also Quinn 1964; de Romilly 1966; Finley 1978). 606 The Athenians often found fault with this type of behaviour (apragmosyne), associating it with the slowness and selfishness of the Spartans, who were seen as less willing to take part in foreign campaigns (Mills 1997: 66-68, n. 76). In the Alcibiades (whose authorship, although assigned to Plato, is likely false, but nevertheless reflects Platonic thought), Socrates criticizes τὰ αὑτῶν πραττεῖν (to mind one’s own business, a similar concept to apragmosyne), claiming that it hinders the development of philia (127b5-6, cf. Adkins 1976: 302). 607 Consider Low’s observation that “the majority of the positive depictions of the norm of intervention come from the point of view of the active, intervening party” (2007: 199). Loraux’s analysis of the funeral oration considers it as a form of ‘hegemonic speech’. She also describes tragedy as occasionally taking on the role of ‘imperial poetry’ (1986: 84, 88). Both genres aimed to depict Athenian rule not as empire, but hegemony and presented Athenian interventionism as the defense of Panhellenic laws and virtues, rather than the unsolicited interference of which its allies and enemies accused it.

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more importantly, the preservation – of their empire.608 In a much-quoted section of his funeral oration, Pericles describes Athenian foreign policy in the following words (Thuc.

2.40.4):

καὶ τὰ ἐς ἀρετὴν ἐνηντιώμεθα τοῖς πολλοῖς· οὐ γὰρ πάσχοντες εὖ, ἀλλὰ δρῶντες κτώμεθα τοὺς φίλους. βεβαιότερος δὲ ὁ δράσας τὴν χάριν ὥστε ὀφειλομένην δι’ εὐνοίας ᾧ δέδωκε σῴζειν· ὁ δὲ ἀντοφείλων ἀμβλύτερος, εἰδὼς οὐκ ἐς χάριν, ἀλλ᾽ ἐς ὀφείλημα τὴν ἀρετὴν ἀποδώσων.

In matters of goodness, we also contrast with most people, since we acquire friends by conferring rather than by receiving benefits. The giver is the more secure, through preserving the feeling of gratitude by good will toward the recipient, who is less fulfilled because he knows that he will repay the goodness not to inspire gratitude but to return an obligation.

Pericles depicts Athenian polypragmosyne as charis (favour). This representation is consistent with the characterization of Athens in Athenian suppliant drama as benevolent.

Athens is presented as a nation that compassionately gives aid to suppliants, who, in turn, prove to be eager to reciprocate by repaying its generosity in kind.609

Individual Athenian polypragmosyne, like its state counterpart, could also have dual connotations, as demonstrated by the plays of Aristophanes. The Aristophanic comedies generally depicted the stereotypical, meddling polypragmon, most frequently dubbed the sycophant or informer. This stock character was portrayed as continuously interfering in the affairs of the city and of others. Yet Leigh has suggested that, within

608 Cf. Thuc. 2.63.2: ἧς οὐδ᾽ ἐκστῆναι ἔτι ἔστιν, εἴ τις καὶ τόδε ἐν τῷ παρόντι δεδιὼς ἀπραγμοσύνῃ ἀνδραγαθίζεται: ὡς τυραννίδα γὰρ ἤδη ἔχετε αὐτήν, ἣν λαβεῖν μὲν ἄδικον δοκεῖ εἶναι, ἀφεῖναι δὲ ἐπικίνδυνον (‘You cannot abdicate from it, even if someone fearful under the immediate circumstances makes this upright display in his political indifference; for you now hold it like a tyranny that seems unjust to acquire but dangerous to let go.’). 609 Cf. Loraux 1986: 80-85; Tzanetou 2012: 1-30. As Mills explains, “in the idealizing mode, every deed, past and present, undertaken by Athens can be regarded as selfless intervention for the common good on behalf of the weaker simply because it is Athenian action; Athenian intervention is presented in a context in which it can only be an unambiguous moral good” (1997: 66).

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these initially critical depictions, “traces of a more positive evaluation” can be found.610

In the Acharnians, the very behaviour that Dikaiopolis accusingly calls meddling, the sycophant himself can characterize as the performance of his civic and patriotic duty.611

The point is again raised in Wealth, and this time more explicitly. Like the informer of the Acharnians, this sycophant also describes himself as patriotic and a useful citizen

(900). He defends his behaviour as benefiting the city to the best of his ability (911-912).

When his interlocutor, the ‘just man’, demands to know how meddling (τὸ

πολυπραγμονεῖν) can be considered beneficial, the sycophant plainly states that he

“[comes] to the aid of the established laws, and [does not permit] it, if any one violates

[them]” (τὸ μὲν οὖν βοηθεῖν τοῖς νόμοις τοῖς κειμένοις καὶ μὴ ᾽πιτρέπειν, ἐάν τις

ἐξαμαρτάνῃ, 914-915).

This sort of rationalization is extremely similar to the explanations found in

Athenian patriotic discourse that serve as justification for its interventionism. Indeed,

Pericles, in his funeral oration, describes the Athenians as upholders of the laws both written and unwritten (Thuc. 2.37.3). Athenian encomia “[recast] Athens’ involvement in the affairs of other states as a form of helping behaviour”, just as the Aristophanic sycophant refashions his own meddling tendencies as a form of patriotic duty.612 As we have seen above, in the epitaphioi and Athenian suppliant plays, Athens is attributed, at least on the surface, the image of a champion of justice and protector of the helpless; however, Tzanetou’s examination of traditional suppliant drama has demonstrated how the idealized image of Athens is not entirely straightforward. This sort of interpretation is

610 Leigh 2013: 30. 611 ibid., 31. Cf. Ar. Ach. 819-833, esp. 819, 827, 833. 612 Lape 2010: 140.

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consistent with the distinction that Pelling makes between the function of ideology as presented in funeral orations and in tragedy. The civic ideology promoted by the epitaphoi is presented as ‘ideology as creed’, that is, as command. The altruistic image of

Athens and the ideology that contributes to this portrayal are represented in no uncertain terms in the funeral oration. Conversely, ideology in drama, he explains, is represented as

‘ideology as question’, which offers to the audience a series of questions that they can consider against an experience, and then measure that experience against the ideal.613 For this reason, as Tzanetou has argued, the idealized image of Athens in tragedy is shown to be imperfect and problematic, which allows for the audience to dispute and challenge their ideology from a safely removed distance. The examples found in Greek tragedy and comedy do not depict a one-sided image of Athenian interventionism and from these cases one can discern the ways in which it was possible for polypragmosyne to take on positive or negative colouring, depending on the circumstances and author.

Isocrates’ On the Peace also differentiates between two different kinds of polypragmosyne. Similar to the examples considered above, he clearly views interventionism as capable of being a beneficial or detrimental quality. Isocrates criticizes

Athens for its foreign policy in the fifth century, which encouraged expansion at the expense of its fellow Greeks (8.22, 26, 30, 96). He praises quietism, in the sense of maintaining that which one already has, and not coveting the possessions of others. He does not, however, advocate for a life free from political involvement. Indeed, his ideal image of Athens is the city from Athenian panegyric: a nation that is willing to endure danger in order to protect the weak and right injustices (8.30, 137). Polly Low, in her

613 Pelling 1997: 224-235, esp. 225-227. See above, n. 83.

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analysis of Greek interstate relations, interprets the distinction that Isocrates makes as resting in whose affairs the interference occurred. She proposes that, for Isocrates, at least, it may be that negative polypragmosyne describes intervention in disputes within states as opposed to between them.614 According to this interpretation, Athenian interventionism as depicted in the disputes between the Heracleidae and Argive king

Eurystheus or the Argives and Thebans in Athenian suppliant drama are examples of positive polypragmosyne (Isoc. 8.41; 14.53). In these instances, Athens may be perceived as an impartial third party who selflessly and compassionately intervenes to help the wronged party.615

Ehrenberg perceives a shift in the way that Athenian imperialism was conceived of during the Peloponnesian War, (or, at least, the way that Thucydides represents it).616

In the first decade of the war, he argues, polypragmosyne was used to conduct and to explain Athenian interstate relations. By the time of the Melian Dialogue, however, polypragmosyne and apragmosyne were no longer employed to describe foreign policy.

Athenian imperialism at this time took on a new justification: might is right, the law of the stronger.617 Whereas Athenians could appeal to arguments of polypragmosyne in

614 Low 2007: 205-206. She similarly differentiates between intervention and counter-intervention (ibid., 197). 615 Lloyd argues that Euripides’ Heracleidae and Suppliant Women represent Athens as reacting to an assault from an outside source, rather than proactively committing an antagonistic act (1992: 71-83). Similarly, Brock considers the presentation of Athenian interference to be minimized by Euripides in the Suppliant Women (1998: 234). 616 Ehrenberg 1947: 47-53, esp. 51-53. 617 Ehrenberg is not alone in identifying the Melian Dialogue with a change in Athenian ideas about empire and power. See also Connor 1984: 157; Crane 1998; Deininger 1987: 113; Euben 1990: 167–201; Meiggs 1972: 388–389; Pouncey 1980: 84.

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order to account for the circumstances of their imperialism, Machtpolitik provided Athens with the moral validation it desired to justify its empire.618

It is perhaps a result of the importance of polypragmosyne (and its antonym apragmosyne) to Athenian foreign policy throughout the 420s specifically that it emerged as a prominent feature in Greek tragedy and comedy during this time period. Euripides’ fragmentary play Antiope has customarily been assigned a performance date of approximately 409 BCE based on a scholion to Aristophanes’ Frogs. In addition to the support of metrical evidence, Gibert argues rather for a date in the 420s by exploring the themes of polypragmosyne and apragmosyne, which he believes to be especially appropriate to this particular decade.619 Ehrenberg, too, briefly considers examples from both drama and comedy that deal, on some level, with these concepts. Of the plays he discusses, the vast majority are dated to the 420s.620 The prologue of Euripides’ fragmentary Philoctetes, which is estimated to have been performed in 431 BCE, also debates the merits of activism versus quietism.621

Building on these observations of polypragmosyne in fifth-century literature more generally, let us now turn to a consideration of interventionism as it appears in the

Andromache. I propose that around the same time that Euripides’ Heracleidae and

Suppliant Women offered audiences representations of positive interventionism, the behaviour of the Spartan characters in the Andromache, most especially, Menelaus, revealed the negative possibilities of polypragmosyne and fifth-century Athenian

618 Cf. Heinimann 1945: 135ff. 619 Cf. Gibert 2009. 620 Eur. Ant. fr. 184, 187, 194, 200 Nauck; Supp. 576f.; Heracl. 329f.; Ar. Peace 109f., 351f., 1058; Cl. 1007; Kn. 261f. See also Ehrenberg 1947: 53-55 for additional examples. 621 TrGF V. 787 = Plut. Mor. 544C, TrGF V. 788 = Dio Chrys. Or. 52.12 and Stob. Flor. 3.29.15; TrGF V. 789 = Plut. Mor. 544C.

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expansionist policy. This reading also supports the above interpretation of Menelaus’ words and actions as reflecting the increasingly harsh treatment of Athenian allies at the time of the Mytilenean Debate and, therefore, as mirroring the realities of Athenian imperial rule.

As we have seen above, when defending his participation in Andromache’s punishment, Menelaus describes his involvement as χρεών, ‘necessary’, ‘expedient’, or

‘right’. He explains the situation to Andromache thusly (374-380):

δούλων δ᾽ ἐκεῖνον τῶν ἐμῶν ἄρχειν χρεὼν καὶ τῶν ἐκείνου τοὺς ἐμοῦς ἡμᾶς τε πρός· φίλων γὰρ οὐδὲν ἴδιον, οἵτινες φίλοι ὀρθῶς πεφύκασ᾽, ἀλλὰ κοινὰ χρήματα. μένων δὲ τοὺς ἀπόντας, εἰ μὴ θήσομαι τἄμ᾽ ὡς ἄριστα, φαῦλός εἰμι κοὐ σοφός.

it is right that [Neoptolemus] rule over my slaves, and right that my kin – and I myself – as well rule over his. For nothing that belongs to φίλοι is private, but whoever are truly φίλοι, their goods are shared in by both. And if I, while waiting for those who are absent, will not set my own affairs as best as possible, I am careless and unwise.

In Menelaus’ eyes, he is as entitled to rule over Neoptolemus’ possessions, his slaves, as he is his own property. He even goes so far as to refer to Neoptolemus’ affairs as his own

(τἄμα).622 Although Menelaus’ claim that he should be able to be involved in the management of Neoptolemus’ oikos is not entirely without merit (it is arguable that a father would have taken an interest in the proper administration of his daughter’s household, or even that his opinions or advice might be given due consideration), Greek law did not entitle him to interfere actively with the oikos of another kurios.623 Phillippo

622 He repeats this sentiment to Peleus a hundred lines later (οὔκουν ἐκείνου τἀμὰ τἀκείνου τ᾽ ἐμὰ, 585). 623 See above, n. 587. Even if Hermione had brought Andromache into Neoptolemus’ household as a part of her dowry (which she did not; she was acquired by Neoptolemus himself as reward for his participation in

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concedes that the marriage-ties that link the two families must have implied a mandate that – to some degree – allowed for the involvement in the affairs of other households, but she reads the clash between Menelaus and Peleus as resulting from Menelaus’ abuse of, and not claim to, his rights.624 By intervening in a domestic situation over which he has no legal authority, Menelaus demonstrates a negative form of polypragmosyne.625

His interference in a dispute within a single ‘state’ (in this case, within another man’s oikos) typifies the harmful interventionism described by Isocrates.626

Upon Peleus’ arrival, he orders Menelaus to release Andromache and her son from captivity. Although the audience has been told earlier that Peleus is the ruler of the entire land of Pharsalia (21-23), Menelaus boldly claims to be his superior (οὐκ ἥσσων

σέθεν) and to have much more authority (πολλῷ κυριώτερος) over Andromache (579-

580). Peleus reproachfully asks him if he intends to govern his home, being dissatisfied ruling over the territory of Sparta alone (581-582). Menelaus is not content to lord over

Sparta and insists on inserting himself, unbidden, at the centre of a Pharsalian domestic dispute. Peleus’ accusation is reminiscent of the complaints levied against Athenian rule by the other Greek states (Thuc. 1. 70) and is the very feature of Athenian foreign policy with which Isocrates finds fault (8.22, 26, 30, 96). Menelaus’ aspirations of interfering in

the Trojan War), the dowry would have been in effect under the ownership and control of her husband for the duration of the marriage (Just 1989: 82). 624 Phillippo 1995: 361 (emphasis added). 625 As Low observes, “although interference in the domestic politics of another state need not, necessarily, conflict with a positive representation of interventionism, there are also occasions when such behaviour is closely connected with negative portrayals of that activity” (2007: 205). The term ‘domestic’ takes on a double meaning in the case of the Andromache. Menelaus interferes not only with the affairs of another city, but also with matters that concern another household. 626 See above, pp. 217, 221-222.

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the activities of other cities are further revealed by his parting words to Peleus.627

Menelaus explains his sudden departure, saying (732-736):

καὶ νῦν μέν – οὐ γὰρ ἄφθονον σχολὴν ἔχω – ἄπειμ᾽ ἐς οἴκους· ἔστι γὰρ τις οὐ πρόσω Σπάρτης πόλις τις, ἣ πρὸ τοῦ μὲν ἦν φίλη, νῦν δ ᾽ἐχθρὰ ποιεῖ· τῇδ᾽ ἐπεξελθεῖν θέλω στρατηλατήσας χὑποχείριον λαβεῖν.

For now, since I do not have an abundance of free time, I will go home. There is a city not far off from Sparta which before was friendly, but now is acting hostile. I mean to lead an army out and attack it and bring it into subjection.

Earlier commentators sought an allusion to a contemporary Spartan enemy in Menelaus’ mention of ‘a certain city’. Some have thought that Argos was the intended subject of the allusion, given its falling out with Sparta in the late 420s and subsequent re-establishment of alliance with Athens.628 Scholars now generally see no need to identify a particular city. Rather, Lloyd rightly describes these words as a “veiled threat”, since they are addressed to Peleus, who rules over a city which, in Menelaus’ eyes, was once a φίλη, but is now acting like an ἐχθρή.629

It is Menelaus’ use of ὑποχείριος, the only instance of the word in the Euripidean corpus, which is of particular note in this passage. The term is not commonly found in extant fifth-century texts, and, for Thucydides in particular, was used much less regularly than its synonym, ὑπήκοος.630 Both words are adjectives that often function as

627 One could conceivably also make the argument that Peleus’ condemnation of Menelaus’ actions in ordering Agamemnon to slaughter his daughter (σφάξαι κελεύσας, 625) serves as another example of Menelaus’ impudent interference in the affairs of another household/kurios. 628 Stevens 1971: 183. He notes that Mantinea was another proposed allusion, though he considers it unlikely. 629 Lloyd 2005: 148-149. 630 Apart from the single Euripidean example, ὑποχείριος appears on a total of seventeen additional occasions: Aesch. Supp. 392; Hdt. 1.106, 1.178, 3.154, 5.91, 6.33, 6.44, 6.45, 6.72, 6.107, 6.119; Soph. El.

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substantives. Whereas ὑποχείριος translates literally as “under one’s hand” (and therefore control or command) and ὑπήκοος “hearkening” (and thus obeying), both are perhaps most frequently translated as “subject”. Despite Thucydides’ apparent favouritism of the term ὑπήκοος, I would nevertheless argue that the few contexts in which he does employ the word ὑποχείριος are rather telling as they relate to the interpretative implications of our Euripidean example.

Four of the five instances of ὑποχείριος in Thucydides are directly connected with

Athens’ foreign policy and subjugation of its fellow Greeks.631 At Book 1.88.1

Thucydides concludes the debate at Sparta with his now famous description of the ‘true’ reason for the Spartans’ declaration of war against Athens.632 This passage marks the first appearance of the word ὑποχείριος in the Histories. Thucydides tells us that the real motivation for Sparta to declare war was fear of the growth of Athenian power, “seeing the greater part of Hellas already under their control”, αὐτοῖς τὰ πολλὰ τῆς Ἑλλάδος

ὑποχείρια ἤδη ὄντα. Thucydides’ explanation, along with much of the content of Book 1, works to set the tone of his entire account, and thus, from the opening chapters, brings to the forefront the issue of Athens’ increasingly autocratic leadership over the Greek world.

1092; Thuc. 1.88.1, 1.128.7, 3.11.1, 3.86.5, 6.36.1. Compare the forty-seven instances of ὑπήκοος in Thucydides alone. The LSJ notes the specific usage of ὑπήκοοι to denote the subject allies of Athens (in contrast to an αὐτόνομος polis). This is perhaps well evidenced by the relative prominence of the term in Thucydides, as compared to the nine instances used in Herodotus’ Histories. 631 The one example without an explicit connection to Athenian rule occurs at 1.128.7 in the story of Pausanias. The Spartan general attempts to enter into an agreement with the Persian king Xerxes, which would “bring both Sparta and the rest of Hellas under [Xerxes’] control”. This usage is similar to the examples of ὑποχείριος in Herodotus, half of which are employed in the context of Persian subjugation- or attempted subjugation- of Greece. The use of the same term to describe Persia’s conquest of Greece and Athens’ own imperial expansion over its fellow Greeks may have been intentional in order to echo the way in which Athens had taken over the role of the tyrannical Mede against whom it had fought to liberate Greece only decades before (Cf. Price 2001: 135). 632 On Thucydides and the causes of the Peloponnesian War, see Andrewes 1959; Dickins 1911; Rhodes 1987; Sealey 1975.

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The term ὑποχείριος occurs twice in Book 3, which has already been analyzed above for its importance to our interpretation of the Andromache. In the Mytilenean

Debate, the speakers from Mytilene describe Athens’ allies as no longer being autonomous, declaring the majority of them to be ὑποχειρίους (3.11.1). The word appears again following the description of stasis at Corcyra, at which time Athenians made their first expedition to Sicily. As Thucydides explains (3.86.3-4):

ἐς οὖν τὰς Ἀθήνας πέμψαντες οἱ τῶν Λεοντίνων ξύμμαχοι κατὰ τε παλαιὰν ξυμμαχίαν καὶ ὅτι Ἴωνες ἦσαν πείθουσι τοὺς Ἀθηναίους πέμψαι σφίσι ναῦς· ὑπὸ γὰρ τῶν Συρακοσίων τῆς τε γῆς εἴργοντο καὶ τῆς θαλάσσης. καὶ ἔπεμπψαν οἱ Ἀθηναῖοι τῆς μὲν οἰκειότητος προφάσει, βουλόμενοι δὲ μήτε σῖτον ἐς τὴν Πελοπόννησον ἄγεσθαι αὐτόθεν πρόπειράν τε ποιούμενοι εἰ σφίσι δυνατὰ εἴη τὰ ἐν τῇ Σικελίᾳ πράγματα ὑποχείρια γενέσθαι.

The Leontine alliance, then, in accordance with an old alliance and also because they were Ionians, sent to Athens and persuaded them to send a fleet; they were under Syracusan blockage by both land and sea. The Athenians sent the ships on the pretext of common nationality, but wishing to prevent grain from that area from reaching the Peloponnesos and also testing the possibility that Sicilian affairs might be brought under their control.

Two points in this passage are particularly noteworthy. Athens sends ships to Sicily upon its request for aid, in the manner of the benevolent protector that it portrays itself to be in encomia. Yet Thucydides informs us that this support is simply a pretext. As was seen in the speeches of Cleon and Diodotus in the Mytilenean Debate, self-interest looms large in the motivations of the Athenians when dealing with issues of foreign policy. Once again, the realities of Athens’ rule and of the relationship with its allies are exposed beneath altruistic pretensions. The pretext that Thucydides provides for the Athenians’ intervention is their common kinship, οἰκειότης. The noun refers to the relationship shared between individuals joined by the household, whether a blood or marriage connection.

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The excuse used by the Athenians here is reminiscent of the reasons Menelaus offers to Peleus and Andromache for his interference in the situation concerning

Andromache. Menelaus tries to paint his involvement in a positive light by making it appear as though he is not present in order to look out for his interests alone. He tells

Peleus that his actions were intended “in forethought for you and for me” (προνοίᾳ τῇ τε

σῇ κἀμῇ, 660), masking his true objectives with appeals to Peleus’ interests. In reality, he uses his relationship with his daughter, Hermione, and, by extension, the entire household of Neoptolemus, as pretense for his entitlement to become involved. On more than one occasion Menelaus proclaims that he is in Phthia to help ‘his own’ (τοῖς ἐμοῖς/ἐμοῖσιν,

539, 677). Although he does not use the same terminology as in the Thucydidean passage, the adjective οἰκεῖος, a cognate of οἰκειότης, is nonetheless often used as a substantive, meaning ‘one’s own’, similar to the way in which Menelaus refers to his kin.633

The final occurrence of ὑποχείριος in Thucydides appears in the opening of

Athenagoras’ speech in the Syracusan debate just prior to Athens’ second expedition to

Sicily. Athenagoras, the leader of the democratic party in Syracuse, rises to speak after

Hermocrates has cautioned citizens about the likelihood of an Athenian incursion and against Athens’ intentions in returning to Sicily. It is the same Hermocrates, who, not much later in Book 6, after the advent of the Athenians in Sicily, utters the one direct use of the abstract noun polypragmosyne in Thucydides. Athenagoras begins his speech by proclaiming that only a coward or unpatriotic person would not hope that the Athenians be misguided in their expedition and, upon their arrival, become their subjects

633 Menelaus also refers to the relationship between himself and Peleus’ household as that of close kin (τοὺς ἀναγκαίους φίλους, 671).

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(ὑποχειρίους ἡμῖν, 6.36.1). Yet he goes on to say that rumors of an Athenian expedition are surely false and that the Athenians will likely only concern themselves with preserving their possessions at home (6.38.1). This portrayal of Athenian behaviour is, of course, false and contradicts the account of Athenian national character in Book 1. Quite the opposite of what Athenagoras alleges, the Corinthians describe the Athenians as being “always abroad […]. For they believe that by being away they are gaining”

(ἀποδημηταὶ […] οἴονται γὰρ οἱ μὲν τῇ ἀπουσίᾳ ἄν τι κτᾶσθαι, 1.70.4).

The desire to have more (pleonexia), which is also indirectly demonstrated by

Menelaus’ illegal interference, is a concept closely associated with polypragmosyne.634

Pleonexia is not explicitly condemned in Thucydides as negative,635 nor is it represented as a symptom of polypragmosyne alone. Rather, it is typically when the two work in concert, that is, when such political covetousness is cultivated by polypragmosyne, that it becomes dangerous and subject to condemnation.636 Only once in Thucydides do the

Athenians comment directly upon any allegations of political covetousness. At the

Spartan assembly prior to the outbreak of the war, they argue that their allies complain more resentfully about minor legal disputes than if Athens had from the outset disregarded the law and had openly succumbed to avarice (ἐπλεονεκτοῦμεν, 1.77.3).

Ehrenberg describes the Corinthians’ characterization of Athenians as “a set of variations on the theme of πολυπραγμοσύνη and how it is never satisfied”.

634 In her tirade against Spartan national character, Andromache accuses Spartans of being αἰσχροκερδές (‘sordidly greedy of gain’, 451). 635 Brasidas, for example, criticizes pleonexia when it is attempted by deceit as opposed to open force (Thuc. 4.86.6). Likewise, Hermocrates finds it excusable that the Athenians should desire more and pursue this type of policy. He does not censure those who have a desire to rule, but rather blames those who are prepared to submit (Thuc. 4.61.5). Thucydides does, however, name pleonexia as a source of evils in his description of stasis in Book 3 (82.8). 636 Ehrenberg 1947: 49-50.

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Based on the application of ὑποχείριος in Thucydides, there seems arguably to have been some correlation between its usage and fifth-century Athenian rule and foreign policy. The examples considered above all deal with Athens’ relationships with other

Greek cities, which are usually explicitly referred to as Athenian allies. Menelaus’ voicing of the word, therefore, casts him in the guise of an Athenian-like ruler. This portrayal is emphasized even more by his description of the city in question as a former philē. Although not an official term to denote an ally, as we have seen above in Chapter

2, the word carries implications of friendship in the sense of political alliance, and furthermore, was generally used in the place of words such as ὑπήκοος or σύμμαχος in panegyric.637

While the Andromache does not present its audience with a depiction of polypragmosyne as overt as the historical writings of Thucydides, or even Euripides’ traditional political plays, this should not prevent us from seeing in the behaviour of

Menelaus allusions to the negative side of interventionism.638 As has been demonstrated throughout the present section, there are inherent links between Athens’ polypragmosyne and the Athenian empire. Thus, the implications of attributing to Menelaus a negative form of interventionism are consistent with the ideological questioning of Athenian empire, which I have previously suggested the characterization of Menelaus encourages,

637 Loraux explains that the epitaphioi “[reduce] others to the position of clients, though actually referred to as friends”. She observes further that the term ὑπήκοος (with the exception of a single example at Thuc. 2.41.3) was not used in funeral orations and that even the word σύμμαχος appears infrequently (1986: 81). Raaflaub similarly comments that cities of the Athenian empire were not designated as ὑπήκοοι in official inscriptions either. Instead, labels of this nature (I would include the term ὑποχείριος in this list) were used “by the victims and other non-Athenians, by authors intending to emphasize the specific nature of the Athenians’ rule, and by Athenians themselves in very specific contexts” (2003: 79-80, emphasis added). Konstan notes that from the classical period onward, the sense of the concrete noun philos overlapped with σύμμαχος so greatly that it is difficult to distinguish between the two terms (1997: 83). 638 Cf. Suppl. 576.

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given the parallels between his conduct and the ideas expressed in the Mytilenean

Debate.

5.4: A Critical Understanding of Self

It is clear then, that the portrayal of Menelaus in the Andromache mirrors contemporary Athenian real politics in a number of ways. According to Gramsci’s notion of the critical understanding of self, part of the function of the intellectual is to teach the masses how to think critically about their conception of the world around them. This is precisely what Euripides’ characterization of Menelaus offers to his audience. It is important to note, though, that the questioning of ideology implicit in such critical awareness does not necessarily equate to the rejection or subversion of the ideology of the dominant group. Rather, as Croally remarks, “if ideology is meant to maintain, stabilize and legitimate existing social relations, it will probably achieve its end by being perceived as stable and legitimate, both of which qualities might profitably be produced by self-questioning”.639 Thus, the idealized image of Athens as depicted in its hegemonic ideology remains unaffected; what is more significant is what is exposed by this type of questioning. In reflecting upon their own behaviours, the Athenians may have found that they did not match up to the ideal so frequently presented in Athenian panegyric.640 Yet this does not imply that the ideal is flawed; instead, it allows for the Athenians to confront their roles and sense of identity as leaders of an empire.641

639 Croally 1994: 46. 640 This type of observation brings to mind the function of the rhetorical techniques of appropriation and idealization in colonial discourse as a form of wish fulfillment. These types of ideological representations betray a desire on the part of the colonizer “to recreate […] one’s own image, and to reunite the pieces of a cultural identity divided from itself” (Spurr 1993: 42). 641 Pelling 1997: 224-35, esp. 226, 234. See also Loraux 1986: 198 on the epitaphioi; MacLeod 1983: 148; Ober and Strauss 1990: 254-255 on oratory, and Winnington-Ingram 1980: 273 n. 71.

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For the Athenians, an important prerequisite to the mindful and critical interpretation of their conception of the world is the use of displacement, also referred to as ‘distancing’, an analogy, which, as we have seen, was developed by Sourvinou-

Inwood. In the Andromache, in particular, the Phthian setting of the play and lack of

Athenian characters creates an imaginary separation, which facilitates a sense of detachment between the audience and the dramatic action. In this way, the absence of an

Athenian presence onstage offered an ideal opportunity for audience members to articulate moral questions about their beliefs and conduct at a safely removed distance.642

Alternatively, the parallels, which we have analyzed above, between Menelaus and the expansionist imperialism of the historical Athenians work as a ‘zooming device’, bringing the action of the play closer to Athenian reality.643 To be sure, it is the mutual reinforcement of zooming and distancing, as Pelling identifies, that makes them such effective rhetorical devices for the questioning of ideology.644 Thus, in the portrayal of

Menelaus, we see how the dexterous manipulation of a non-Athenian character in this way enabled Athenian audience members to reflect upon the implications of their imperialist tendencies from a safe distance without undermining the dominant message of

Athens’ hegemonic ideology.

In the Mytilenean debate, as we have seen, the words of Cleon do not prevail, and the Athenian people vote to sentence to death only those Mytileneans directly involved in the revolt. Similarly, in our play, Peleus, unyielding to the alleged good intentions and

642 Many scholars have considered the use of the non-Athenian Other was exploited by Athens for the purposes of self-examination. See for example, Croally 1994; Hall 1989; Pelling 1997; Rosenbloom: 1995; Zeitlin 1990. 643 Recall, too, how Peleus’ tirade against generals at 693f. have been interpreted as a zooming device to comment upon the Athenian institution of the strategia. See above, n. 439. 644 Pelling 1997: 229.

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aggressive interference of Menelaus, stands his ground in defense of Andromache and her child and of his own sovereignty. In neither case do arguments based solely on expediency sway their intended addressees. Instead, such confrontations provide a space wherein the Athenians can act out questions and issues fundamental to the city and to their own understanding of self.645 For now, experience has managed to live up to the ideal. The ideological stance of the Andromache would seem, then, to remain ultimately in line with the legitimization of the empire.

5.5: Summary

The ideology of the Athenian suppliant plays, especially those composed during the 420s, worked in part to combat the criticisms of Athens’ rule, which its enemies imputed against it. Euripides’ Heracleidae and the Suppliant Women, for example, both represent Athenian interventionism in positive terms. Athens’ interference in the disputes of other Greek cities in these tragedies is not depicted as motivated by self-interest; rather, in each play, the city is shown to be going to war to defend Panhellenic laws and customs and to protect the weak and oppressed, an image that is consistent with the ideal

Athens found in the funeral orations. More recent analyses of traditional suppliant drama, however, have uncovered a more complicated picture.646 The plays, as Tzanetou’s examination reveals, do not present a simple or fixed image of Athenian leadership. The difficulties involved in the ritual and reception of suppliants expose the realities of the relationship between Athens and its allies, and “raise questions about the moral legitimacy of [Athens’] power”.647 Papadopoulou, too, has proposed that the formal

645 Cf. Zeitlin 1990: 117. 646 Cf. Papadopoulou 2011; Tzanetou 2012. 647 Tzanetou 2012: 131.

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debate in the Heracleidae offers the audience a glimpse at both the favourable and unfavourable aspects of Athenian rule, through a positive presentation of the Athenians and negative portrayal of the Argives, who implicitly serve as a mirror to the dangers of the Athenians’ own policies.648

Following these approaches, in this chapter I have argued that careful consideration of Menelaus’ behaviour toward Andromache and Peleus on the tragic stage reveals parallels between Athens’ real politics in the 420s, as described in Thucydides, which gradually become characterized more by Machtpolitik than by claims to morality and justice.649 Euripides, in his role as intellectual, participates in a dialectic with the masses, whereby he educates them on the development of a critical awareness of self, the starting point of the elaboration of a political consciousness. According to Gramsci’s theory of hegemony, the goal of these efforts was for the intellectuals to organize and lead the masses toward the creation of social unity. Ideology, as disseminated by the intellectuals amongst the masses, provided the cement with which a group was unified and became hegemonic. The similarities between Menelaus and Athenian real politics in the Andromache afforded the Athenian audience just such an opportunity for critical self- reflection. Through the use of distancing measures, such as the non-Athenian Other,

Athenians are able to think critically about themselves, to face the potentially dangerous aspects of their policies, with lesser risk to the Athenian self-image. The self-questioning in the Andromache allows for an exploration, but not subversion, of Athenian hegemonic ideology; in the end, the engagement of the play with questions of power, ethics, and

648 Papadopoulou 2011: 385. 649 See Mills 1997: 79-86 on Thucydides’ efforts to disclose the mendacity of the ideology surrounding Athenian rule represented in encomia.

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foreign relationships results in the affirmation and legitimization of the leading position of the Athenians.

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Conclusion

Euripides’ Andromache was most likely first performed in Athens during the initial years of the Peloponnesian War. The Athenians, by this time, had perfected a hegemonic ideology that aimed both to justify and to reinforce its position of supremacy over other Greek city-states. Ideological statements about Athens, which can be traced across tragedy and oratory alike, celebrate the city for its altruism and represent its leadership in moral and idealized terms. Yet as Angeliki Tzanetou has recently argued, tragedy, unlike oratory, does not offer a straightforward affirmation of Athenian rule.

Rather it actively participates in the dialectic between the real and ideal, as conveyed by the historical instantiation of empire and its ideological (re)presentation. Although the

Andromache is not customarily considered amongst Euripides’ traditional ‘political plays’, it is now widely accepted that Athenian theater, as a whole, possesses an inherently political character given its performance context and engagement with

Athenian civic institutions. Correspondingly, in this dissertation I have sought to demonstrate how the ideological purpose of the Andromache operates much in the same way as more conventionally political ‘patriotic’ plays. I argue that the absence of an

Athenian presence in the drama does not preclude the possibility of reading any allusion to Athenian politics; indeed, given the Athenian predilection for exploring important issues and questioning ideology from a removed distance, the lack of Athenian setting or characters arguably enables a more honest and analytical assessment of self on the part of the audience members.

I follow Tzanetou in conceiving of hegemony as intellectual and moral leadership, as based on the theories of Antonio Gramsci. According to this view, leadership is

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exercised by a dominant group through the consent of the led. In order to achieve this consent, a successful hegemonic ideology will endeavour to represent itself as embodying the interests of subordinate groups. In this study, I have proposed that the concept of

Greek freedom was adopted by Athens as the hegemonic principle to which the values and interests of its subject-allies were articulated so as to form a cohesive ideological system, that is, a common worldview. As discontent with Athens’ increasingly imperial tactics grew amongst Greek cities, the Spartans developed their own competing, counterhegemonic voice, which exploited aspects of the preexisting Athenian ideology.

An ideological struggle, which mirrored the physical battlefields of the Peloponnesian

War, ensued where Athens and Sparta competed to win over their fellow Greek city- states and secure predominance. The Andromache, I maintain, participates in this ideological struggle.

I have argued that the marriage connection between the households of Peleus and

Menelaus in the Andromache may be construed as a political alliance and, therefore, that the theme of marriage offers a profitable site for the exploration of Athens’ hegemonic ideology and relations with its imperial allies. On a literal level, marriage certainly could be used as a mechanism for making political alliances both within and outside of one’s own state. Furthermore, the symbols and language of the private sphere were frequently applied to denote the public. Notably, through the intersection of the thematic elements of marriage and nationality, the Andromache itself encourages its audience to consider the political implications of the union between Neoptolemus and Hermione. This interpretation is reinforced by the historical context of the play. As I have demonstrated, throughout the late sixth and fifth centuries, both Athens and Sparta had strong interests

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in the regions of North Western Greece, as each city sought to gain support from as many city-states as possible. For this reason, it is possible to infer that the union between Sparta and Phthia depicted in the Andromache may have had a specific resonance for the members of the audience.

On the surface, the manifestation of Athenian hegemonic ideology in the

Andromache appears consistent with its legitimizing function, as propagated in Athenian panegyric. In contrast to traditionally political plays, whose ideological message lies closer to a defensive justification of Athenian leadership, I have argued that the tone of the Andromache embraces a more offensive tactic; that is, it primarily addresses the

Spartan counterhegemonic voice that was circulating in the early years of the war. To this effect, I have demonstrated that, upon first reading, the portrayal of the Spartan characters in the tragedy responds to and counteracts the Spartan rhetoric of freedom. With the emergence of Athens’ reputation as polis tyrannos, Sparta championed itself as the liberator of Hellas, reviving its previously acquired status as hostile to tyranny. Yet the characterizations of Menelaus and Hermione in the Andromache turn this image on its head, exposing the tyrannical resemblances in their behaviour and subsequently insinuating inconsistencies between the claims and actions of their historical counterparts. The manipulation of these portrayals not only operates to undermine the counterhegemonic ideology of the Spartans, demonstrating their incompatibility with leadership over their fellow Greeks, but also implicitly legitimizes Athenian hegemony by displacing the criticisms of its own rule onto Sparta.

Yet as I have shown, closer consideration of the representations of both

Thessalian and Spartan figures uncovers complications in any attempt at a simplistic

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interpretation of the play’s ideological message. Indeed, as Pelling cautions, “we must beware of regarding the Other as a straightforward foil to an idealized Athens”.650

Accordingly, through engagement with the study of colonial discourse, I have suggested that the depictions of the Phthian king, Peleus, and his grandson, Neoptolemus, show signs of the rhetorical strategies of appropriation and idealization. In this manner, I argue that the treatment of their characters in the play exposes indications of the imperial realities of Athenian rule. As in Gramsci’s concept of hegemony, the aim of colonial discourse was to achieve dominance through inclusion as opposed to confrontation. The rhetorical appropriation of the Thessalian characters to the discourse of Athenian imperialism insists on their identification with dominant Athenian values and interprets their conformism to these ideals as approval and acquiescence. The adoption of Athenian standards was not only evidenced on the dramatic stage but, in fact, corroborated by the practices of the historical Molossian tribe, with whom Athens had friendly relations both during and after the war. Yet the idealization and ‘Athenianization’ of subordinate group members frequently functioned as an act of self-reflection, whether conscious or unconscious. So, when Peleus criticizes the conduct of generals and customs surrounding leadership in Greece, his words implicitly pass judgment on actual practices within the city of Athens.

In this vein, I have demonstrated that the portrayal of Menelaus, further probed, similarly exposes an incompatibility between Athens’ hegemonic image and its actual practices of empire. The words and conduct of Menelaus, in addition to combating the counterhegemonic ideology of Sparta, recall aspects of Athens’ real politics, as evidenced

650 Pelling 1997: 228.

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by the speech of Cleon in the Mytilenean Debate and contemporary accounts of Athenian polypragmosyne. Despite Athens’ claims of defending the rights of the wronged and leading with compassion and generosity, the ideas put forward by both Menelaus and

Cleon rely on arguments of might versus right and reflect a foreign policy based on self- interest. These parallels act as a mirror to Athenian society, which reveal the possible implications of its policies and encourage critical engagement when thinking about the responsibilities and obligations that come along with its position of power.

A significant corollary of Gramsci’s theory of hegemony is the critical understanding of the self. Such critical consciousness, Gramsci maintains, was a necessary precursor to the development and maintenance of hegemonic status. In line with this view, I have argued that the Andromache, through the dramatic portrayal of its allies, the Thessalians, and adversaries, the Spartans, encourages its audience to think critically about their conception of the world and the role that they play as rulers of an empire. The absence of an overt Athenian presence in the play allowed the Athenian audience to distance itself from the action of the play and provided Athenians with the opportunity for thoughtful and critical self-assessment without risk of subverting their dominant ideology.

It was, therefore, necessary for Athenian hegemonic ideology to work on two levels. As Boehmer explains, in speaking about the British empire, “given the powerful strategies of exclusion and repression on which they were built, nineteenth-century imperial projects required mechanisms of self-legitimation which, too, would work with power and effectiveness”.651 So, too, did the Athenian empire need to communicate an

651 Boehmer 2005: 76.

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effective ideology that justified its rule over its fellow Greeks. But, as we have seen, it was equally important that this same ideology both promoted and facilitated the opportunity within its own citizenry for conscious self-reflection, without which the

Athenians would not have been able to retain their position of power.

In the opening of this thesis, I referenced Angeliki Tzanetou’s observation on the complex character of Athenian hegemony and highlighted her hope that her study would herald other examinations of the topic in Greek tragedy. Through its particular focus on the Andromache’s engagement with the Spartan counterhegemonic voice, it is my own hope that this study contributes to this field by providing just such a new perspective on the interpretation of Athenian hegemonic ideology in tragedy.

241

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Curriculum Vitae

Alexandra H. Dawson

EDUCATION

2011-2020 Ph.D. Classical Studies, Western University 2008-2010 M.A. Classical Studies, Western University 2003-2008 B.A. (Honours) Classical Studies, Brock University

TEACHING EXPERIENCE (Western University)

2018 Ancient Greek Poetry Selections 2016 Ancient Greek Prose Selections 2015 Ancient Greek Prose Selections 2014 Ancient Greek Poetry Selections

TEACHING ASSISTANTSHIPS (Western University)

2016 Greek and Latin Elements in English 2014 Daily Life in Ancient Rome 2013 Egyptian Art and Architecture 2012-2013 Classical Mythology 2012 Technology and Engineering in the Ancient World 2011 Greek and Roman Sexuality 2010 Greek and Roman Sexuality 2009 Greek and Latin Elements in English 2008-2009 Classical Civilization

RESEARCH ASSISTANTSHIPS

2015-2017 Professor C. Dyck, Department of Philosophy, Western University 2016 Professor A. Robin, Department of Modern Languages, Western University 2011-2012 Professor R. Poole, Department of English, Western University Professor L. de Looze, Department of Modern Languages, Western University 2007 Professor A. Glazebrook, Department of Classics, Brock University

AWARDS & HONOURS

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2013-2015 Joseph-Armand Bombardier CGS: Doctoral, Western University 2013-2014 Ontario Graduate Scholarship (declined) 2009-2010 Ontario Graduate Scholarship, Western University 2008-2009 Faculty of Arts and Humanities Dean's Entrance Scholarship, Western University Joseph-Armand Bombardier CGS: Masters, Western University Ontario Graduate Scholarship (declined) 2008 Frederick H. Casler Memorial Award, Brock University 2007 Trine Varcoe Memorial Award, Brock University 2005 St. Katherine Greek Orthodox Church Ladies Philoptochos Award, Brock University

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